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THE BLACK COMPANY 




















■ . 











































I 




































J 

The Black Company 

A Mystery Story 


BY 

W. B. M. FERGUSON/ 

II 



CHELSEA HOUSE 
79 Seventh Avenue New York City 




Copyright, 1924 
By CHELSEA HOUSE 


The Black Company 



(Printed in the United States of America) 

All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign 
languages, including the Scandinavian. 

•APR 17 1924^ 

©C1A777950 

‘'Wf V 





CHAPTER 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I. I Take a Ride.. 


II. 

I Find a Job .... 





X X 

29 

III. 

I Hear Some News 





46 

IV. 

A Morning of Surprises 





61 

V. 

King’s Pawn to Knight’s 





7 i 

VI. 

I Acquire Various Information 



90 

VII. 

The Unexpected Happens 





102 

VIII. 

Conspiring Circumstances 





115 

IX. 

I Find Myself a Murderer 





130 

X. 

I Do Some Investigating 





140 

XI. 

I Return Home . 





155 

XII. 

The Returned Prodigal 





166 

XIII. 

At the Admiral . 





177 

XIV. 

I Consult Lisping Jimmie 





186 

XV. 

A Week’s Events . 





202 

XVI. 

Some Old Acquaintances 





211 

XVII. 

An Interrupted Dialogue 





225 

XVIII. 

Further Discoveries . . 





238 








CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XIX. I Learn a Lot More. 251 

XX. The Black King ....... 260 

XXI. I Interview His Majesty .... 274 

XXII. Fool’s Luck. 283 

XXIII. Blunt Explains. 297 

XXIV. I Win the Queen.- 309 







THE BLACK COMPANY 


CHAPTER I 


I TAKE A RIDE 



'O be quite honest about it, I have no very 


clear idea what happened in that private room 
at the Princeton Inn the night of the last nip-and- 
tuck baseball game with Yale, except that every one 
of the crowd with the exception of myself was 
anything but sober. There were Roupell and Frean, 
Hewitt and Ashton—to mention only a few—who 
were quarrelsome and ready to take exception to 
everything I said. I didn’t mind particularly about 
Roupell and Frean, but Bob Hewitt, being a par¬ 
ticularly old friend, his condition pained me ex¬ 
ceedingly. 

I don’t recollect precisely what our particular 
difference was about, my memory being notoriously 
faulty over trifles, but I know that somehow Hewitt 
and I had become the focal point of interest for 
the crowd. They were gathered round our table, 
and something seemed to have happened. Perhaps 
I had said a brilliant thing worth remembering— 
I often do—for Tommy Ashton, who is a lawyer, 
had his fountain pen out and was busy writing. 
No doubt he intended to be my Boswell. He was 


12 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


smiling; so was everybody but Hewitt, who looked 
as serious as the war. 

“See here, Pete,” said Hewitt, leaning over the 
table and eying me hard, “you take witness before 
all present that you’re perfectly sober-” 

“Of course I’m sober! Did you ever see me 
when I wasn’t ? I was born sober! Why do 
you persist in insinuating that I’m drunk instead 
of yourself?” 

“Oh, that’s a particular failing of Hewitt’s,” 
laughed a fat voice; and, to my astonishment, I 
recognized Howard Roupell. 

“Oh, hello!” I greeted. “When did you blow in?” 

“With you,” he chuckled. “You know I’ve been 
sitting next you all evening.” 

“The Harry you have! You aren’t a Princeton 
man and you’re old enough and, I dare say, unmoral 
enough to be the father of us all.” 

“I dare say,” agreed Roupell, patting his fat 
paunch. “But I was at the game, you know, and 
since you invited me here-” 

“I invite you? Nonsense! How could I, when 
this is the first time I’ve seen you since—well, I 
forget how long. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m 
sorry to see that you’re drunk, Roupell. It isn’t 
right, it isn’t decent, especially in an old man like 
you. You should set a good example, have more 
honor for your graying hairs and our youthful 
purity.” 



I TAKE A RIDE 


13 


"It's you who’s drunk—drunk as a fool,” said 
another voice; and, again to my astonishment, I 
recognized Arnold Frean. Of course he had a per¬ 
fect right to be there, but it was just like him to 
come sneaking in by a back door and slink among 
the crowd. A furtive fellow, Frean, with large, 
outstanding ears—otherwise he was quite handsome 
—that seemed designed expressly for listening at 
keyholes. There was no love lost between us, and, 
to his ridiculous and monstrous charge concerning 
my sobriety, he now had the audacity to add that, 
like Roupell, he had been present from the first, 
even sitting behind me at the ball game. Moreover, 
he stated that I had brought Roupell to the feast 
by intimidation and violence, threatening him with 
mayhem, and I forget what else, if he didn’t join 
the party. 

“For that matter you invited the whole town,” 
finished Frean. “All the ragtag and bobtail- 
friends, I suppose, of your former days—and we 
had a hard time keeping ’em out.” 

“You’re drunk, Frean,” I said. “Drunk like 
Roupell. I’m sorry to see it, and I object to your 
face. Between ourselves, and speaking in strict 
privacy, I don’t like it and never did. Take it 
away.” 

“You’re like all the Lawtons,” he said. “You 
can’t take a drink-” 

“I can! I’ll have one now. Thanks for re- 



14 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


minding me. I’ll have more than one, and then 
I’ll remove your face. That face of yours and 
Roupell’s alleged funny stories are too much; as 
a combination-” 

“Oh, cut it out!” exclaimed Hewitt, seizing my 
arm. “And you quit chipping him, Frean. Can’t 
you stop your rowing ? Don’t get quarrelsome, 
Pete-” 

“I’m not,” I protested. “I’m the most peace¬ 
able man in the world. I’ll fight anybody who says 
I’m not— anybody. I’m the only sober man in the 
room, too. You know that, Bob. You’re all half 
shot and trying to pick a row, but you can’t do 
it with me. No, sir. I’m perfectly willing to fight 
anybody who says he can— anybody. Only sober 
man in the room; never more sober in my life.” 

“Very well,” said Hewitt. “That’s what I’ve 
been trying to get at. You say you’re perfectly 
sober? All right; now read over the agreement.” 

It was the first I had heard of any agreement, 
but Hewitt being so far gone, poor fellow—much 
further gone than I had even suspected—I decidejd 
to humor him. You have to humor the drunk; 
it is the only way to deal with them. He was 
in that perverse state where, if I had even hinted 
a denial of any agreement, he would have claimed 
triumphantly that I was drunk and he sober. 

I confess, however, to astonishment when Ash¬ 
ton handed me a paper. But evidently, being a 




I TAKE A RIDE 


15 


quick-witted fellow, he was helping me on the 
spur of the moment to humor poor Hewitt. And 
when I glanced at the paper I saw he had been 
at some pains to fake up an agreement, though I 
could not quite grasp what it was all about, 
it being couched in the cloudy phraseology of 
the law which, coupled with Ashton’s weird 
handwriting, rendered it quite unintelligible. In¬ 
deed, it made me dizzy to look at it, though, to 
humor poor Hewitt, I made a solemn pretense of 
reading it through. 

“Is that right ?” asked Hewitt. “You under¬ 
stand it?” 

“Of course,” I said angrily. Did he think I 
couldn’t understand plain English put in plain writ¬ 
ing? 

“Very good. Then let it be signed and witnessed.” 

Ashton handed me his pen, one of those foolish 
affairs that start off with dumping half their con¬ 
tents down your sleeve, and then splutter all over 
the map. For that reason I found some little 
difficulty in signing my name. 

“That’s yours,” said Hewitt. “Now sign my 
copy. Compare it with your own.” 

I did so dutifully. And now Ashton’s writing 
had so improved by practice that I was able to 
understand, amid a wilderness of “Whereases” and 
“Aforesaids,” the following words: 


i6 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


And furthermore I, Peter Lawton, being in full pos¬ 
session of all my faculties, do promise faithfully to earn 
my living by manual labor for a period of at least one 
month, dating from this seventeenth day of June, 1916. 

“Very well,” I said, tossing the signed document 
back to Hewitt. “Because I came into a pot of 
money and you didn’t, you’ve always been throwing 
it up to me! Because I don’t have to work and you 
do, you’re sore-” 

“It’s not that at all, Pete. You started this 
argument about being able to earn your own living, 
even by manual labor-” 

“I did nothing of the kind!” 

“You did. And every fellow here knows you 
did. You can only repudiate your signature and 
that agreement by admitting what you would never 
admit before—that you weren’t capable of-” 

“I’m capable of anything—I mean everything!” 
I exclaimed. “I’ll show you and the whole crowd! 
I can’t earn my own living, eh? I’ll show you. I 
stand over my signature and repudiate nothing!” 

I forget what else I said, but it must have been 
very witty—I seemed to be in a rather happy vein 
that evening—for they all laughed and clapped me 
on the back—all except Frean, who stood aloof with 
amused sarcastic eyes. Then we all sang the old 
glees, and after an extremely pleasant time, of which 
I remember nothing, I found myself outside, talking 
with my chauffeur. 





I TAKE A RIDE 


1 7 


“Jensen,” I said, “you’re discharged. “Who’s 
got your job? I have. I’ve got to go to work 
right away, and the only thing I can do with my 
hands is to feed myself and run a car. I can’t 
feed if I don’t work. Ergo, you’re discharged. I 
know your employer, too; he’s a good fellow, one 
of the best. I approve of him, and if I have 
to work, I’d rather work for him.” 

Jensen was a Swede, and at times rather stupid. 
Unfortunately this was one of the times and, 
moreover, he had been drinking like everybody 
else but myself. A drunken Swede—a terrible com¬ 
bination; no wonder I found it impossible to get 
him to understand my simple and dramatic state¬ 
ment. “You ban my boss,” he kept repeating like 
a litany, his bleak face never changing. “How 
you work for yourself? You make a yoke, yes?” 

“I make a yoke, no. I’ve got your job and 

that’s all there’s to it.” 

“But, boss-” 

“There are no buts, my friend. Didn’t you say 
the other day you were thinking of making a 
change ? Well, you’ve made it. And don’t let 
me hear you say again, ‘Ay tank you ban drunk 
again, boss,’ or I’ll put you past thinking anything. 

How could I be drunk again when I’ve never 

been drunk in my life? I’m sorry to see that 

you’ve been at the bottle. However, I’ve now 
engaged a sober chauffeur.” 



THE BLACK COMPANY 


18 

He blinked at me. “You ban going to fire 


“I ban! Here, now, immediately, if not sooner! 
I’ve got your job and I’ll hang on to it. I’m 
going to take the old bus all the way home myself 
and run it in. future. I’ve got your job. I’m 
working for Pete Lawton.” 

It took some time for the truth to sink into 
Jensen’s square dome, but when he saw I was 
quite sober, and in deadly earnest, he accepted the 
situation like a philosopher, the more so, perhaps, 
as I handed him a hundred-dollar bill in mistake 
for a twenty. Anyway, he disappeared, though I 
don’t remember seeing him go. 

I experienced some unexpected trouble in getting 
the car started and out of the parking space, but 
this was finally accomplished with the aid of a very 
obliging person with two faces, an oddity I had 
not remarked in him previously. 

Five of the crowd, including Hewitt, were to 
return home with me to New York, but when I 
appeared with something of a flourish—if there is 
anything I can do it’s drive a car—and they saw 
I was minus Jensen, their behavior was very pecul¬ 
iar. It became downright insulting when they 
learned what had happened to Jensen, and that I 
meant to take the wheel myself. One and all 
positively declined to accompany me, and, to fur- 



I TAKE A RIDE 


19 


ther aggravate matters, they insinuated I was in 
no condition to drive even a baby carriage. 

“For the love of Heaven, you mad devil, come 
out of there!” cried Hewitt at length, springing 
on the running board and trying to shut off the 
spark. “You’ll kill somebody or break your fool 
neck-” 

“I’ll break yours if you don’t get off!” I shouted 
above the roar of the engine. “I’ve stood your 
insults long enough. You jeer at me for not work¬ 
ing, and then, when I get a job with a good em¬ 
ployer, a fellow I like and approve of-” 

“One of you fellows run for a cop!” cried 
Hewitt. “And, say, can’t the rest of you help 

me? Come on and do something! Don’t you see 
he’ll do what he says and that he isn’t able to 
bite his finger?” 

“I don’t want to bite it!” I cried. “But you 
evidently do.” For he had followed his words by 
coming over the door like a cyclone. 

It only needed that personal contact, the employ¬ 
ment of brute force, to snap my long-suffering 

patience and send my peaceful nature up in flame. 
I slung Hewitt into the road with one hand, while 
with the other I threw in the clutch. At the same 
moment Jensen appeared, and he and the other four 
fellows rushed me, followed by, it seemed, half the 
town. 

What happened next could only be described by 




20 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


half a dozen moving-picture machines working to¬ 
gether at top speed. The high-powered six gave a 
bound like a tiger, and I took the sharp turn into 
the highroad at a forty-mile clip amid a parting scene 
that resembled a lunatic’s dream of the battle of 
the Marne. 

It was not until I had passed several towns that 
it began to dawn on me that some one had changed 
the map placing New York in a remote corner, 
where I was unable to find it. Meanwhile it was 
a lovely, warm, moonlight night—indeed, there were 
several moons—and, ceasing to brood over my 
wrongs, I began to find a certain pleasure in the 
ride. 

It would appear that neither Paul Revere nor John 
Gilpin had anything on me when it came to rousing 
public interest and enthusiasm. Everybody I met 
made way for me instantly as if I were a king, 
showering benedictions and good wishes after me 
in the most approved manner. In several towns 
fire bells were rung, and the police force hastily 
mobilized. Even trolley cars stopped so that their 
passengers might have a glimpse of me as I passed; 
women fainted with joy, and several horses ran 
away through sheer excitement. No one ever had 
such a tremendous popular ovation, such a triumphal 
procession. My heart was filled with gratitude to¬ 
ward all these good people, and if I had not been 
in such a hurry to find out what had happened 


I TAKE A RIDE 


21 


to New York, I should certainly have stayed and 
accepted of their proffered hospitality. 

In due time it occurred to me that rather than 
search at random I had better make inquiries as 
to the new location of Manhattan, for I had an im¬ 
portant engagement the following day, and it would 
prove rather awkward if at the last moment I 
discovered the city to have been shifted, say, to 
Alaska. For you never know what those fellows 
at the topographical bureau in Washington are up 
to. 

With me, to make up my mind is to act, and 
accordingly I now stopped the car and alighted. 
Perhaps it would have been just as well if the 
idea had come to me at another time and place, 
for now I discovered there was no one whom I 
could ask for information. In other words, I 
found myself absolutely alone on a deserted country 
road. 

“Eve always heard it said,” I thought injuredly, 
“that to make up one’s mind and to act promptly 
is a great virtue. But see what it has done for 
me! Now I must tramp about here until I find 
somebody who knows where New York is.” 

So I set off down the road. You will ask, per¬ 
haps, why I did not go in the car. But I have 
confessed to a memory that is faulty over trifles, 
and, for the moment, the trifling matter of the car 
had escaped me. 


22 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


The next scene—for, somehow, this night every¬ 
thing happened in scenes—found me at a cross¬ 
roads, hat in hand, talking to a man and a girl. 
They sat in a town car de luxe, upholstered in 
maroon, electrically lighted within, and with a flower 
vase containing a bunch of violets that went wonder¬ 
fully with the girl’s hair. 

Her companion was a little, dried-up old gentle¬ 
man, rather foppishly dressed, and the color of 
bronze. I assure you he was. It was not sunburn, 
nor was he a foreigner; his face and hands were 
a distinct and emphatic greenish-bronze color, the 
like of which I had never seen before. 

I have no wish to criticize his looks, for I am 
not a handsome man myself. In fact my cherished 
nickname at Old Nassau was “Mug.” Taken singly, 
and if transposed, I have been assured by friends 
that my features are quite classical; I mean if my 
nose was turned upside down, and my nether lip 
projected inward instead of outward, and a good 
bit of my chin was shoved south—you get the 
idea. They are all good features, judged separately, 
but undoubtedly a serious mistake was made by 
somebody when they were being assembled. 

The result is a tumultuous something, with knobs 
and projections in unexpected places, properly termed 
a “mug.” Even though I wore a mustache in order 
to veil the subject as decently as possible, the 
result was still a mug. Indeed Arnold Frean would 


I TAKE A RIDE 


23 


have had infinitely more reason to object to my 
face than I to his; he really had one worth 
looking at—velvety brown eyes and all that Valen¬ 
tino stuff. I suppose I objected to it because it 
kept reminding me so poignantly of my own. 

No, I am not a handsome man, and yet, do you 
know, I made the greatest possible impression on 
the little bronze gentleman and his beautiful com¬ 
panion. I assure you I did. How? Why, by 
my manner and bearing. There is something princely 
about me—there is no other word for it and, as 
I had noticed it before this evening, I needn’t try 
to be mock modest about it—that is infinitely 
superior to mere good looks. 

Real princes aren’t handsome, nor princesses 
either; if you doubt it, take a look at the family 
album of the crowned heads of Europe. I own 
a sort of royal and magnificent bearing that com¬ 
mands the utmost attention, homage, and respect. 
One is born that way; there is no acquiring it. 
The little bronze gentleman and the girl, from the 
moment I appeared, couldn’t remove their eyes from 
me—and they had many eyes, indeed more than 
their fair share; they had at least half a dozen be¬ 
tween them. I welcomed the phenomenon in the 
girl’s case, for one cannot have too much of a 
pretty thing, but the man’s resembled holes burned 
in a blanket. 

“You are mistaken, sir,” I said, endeavoring to 


24 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


explain the situation and correct the bronze man’s 
ridiculous error that I had tried to get myself run 
over. “I am not a would-be suicide. The fact 
is I have lost something, something of infinite value, 
and I wished merely to solicit the help of the 
first passer-by.” 

“Oh, we must help him!” said the girl. 

“Be quiet!” snapped the little mummy. “What 
have you lost?” he demanded of me, tapping a 
Malacca cane against his thin shanks. 

“I have lost New York,” I confided solemnly. 

“Eh? What’s that?” He had begun to sniff, as 
though preparatory to bursting into tears at the 
enormity of my misfortune, and against this con¬ 
tingency, he now produced a flowered silk hand¬ 
kerchief and held it to his nose. I was touched, 
deeply so; such sympathetic souls are all too rare 
in this world. 

“Don’t weep, sir,” I said. “I can’t bear to see 
you cry. True, I have lost New York, or rather 
it has been stolen from me; some vandal has 
removed it. But no doubt you can help me find 
it. I must be in New York without fail to-morrow, 
for I’ve an appointment which I can’t neglect. In 
strict confidence, I may explain that I’m to be 
buried; so if I’m not there, how can there be a 
funeral? You see the point? Now, what would 
you advise?” 

“That you enter the alcoholic ward of the nearest 


I TAKE A RIDE 


25 

hospital!’ he answered, with sudden and unwar¬ 
ranted ferocity. “Faugh! You smell like a distil¬ 
lery. Go away, you sot!” 

“Anything to oblige, sir. Where is the nearest 
hospital? If you will kindly take me-” 

“Get out of here!” he roared. “Take your foot 
away, sir! Jules!” 

Jules was the chauffeur, and he appeared, armed 
with a spanner. 

The proceedings became a trifle involved. Not 
that in the presence of the girl I had any idea 
of making a scene; but I considered it only due 
to my self-respect to correct the bronze man’s er¬ 
roneous conception of my character and condition. 
And this I endeavored to do with the utmost polite¬ 
ness and amiability. 

The girl appeared to understand my position, for 
her eyes—I now ascertained she had no more than 
the customary number—were quite sympathetic. I 
gathered that she wished to assist me, and, no 
doubt referring to some one else, she stated that 
it was cruel and inhuman to leave them when it 
was plain to be seen that they were helpless as 
a baby. 

I was about to applaud her for this excellent 
sentiment when the little old gentleman banged the 
door in my face, Jules sent me sprawling, and the 
car whirled off, leaving me no wiser as to the fate 
of New York. Still, I was the better for the 



26 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


adventure, for it left me with the happy memory 
of a beautiful, gracious, and charming young girl. 

I now remembered my own car, and hastened to 
leave the crossroads down which the other had 
sped. I found my car where I had left it, and I 
found also a man cranking the engine. 

“Thank you, so much,” I said. “It’s very kind 
of you to take the trouble. I've met quite a number 
of nice, obliging people to-night.” 

Evidently he had been so engrossed in his kindly, 
self-appointed task, that he had not heard me ap¬ 
proach; for at my words he jumped back, crank 
in hand, as if I had demanded his money or his 
life. I could see him quite plainly by the light of 
the several summer moons. He was a big fellow, 
about my own height and weight, and quite respect¬ 
ably dressed. 

It being a night of the most astounding phenom¬ 
ena—to mention only one fact, witness the several 
moons, to which I meant subsequently to direct 
the attention of Lick Observatory—I was not greatly 
astonished to discover that this new acquaintance 
had six fingers. I assure you he had; I saw them 
plainly as he held the crank. Nor was this all; 
far from it. He was the proud possessor also of 
a miraculous mustache capable of intelligent self¬ 
movement. I assure you of the truth of this too. 
When first he turned toward me, the mustache 
was in a most curious and humiliating position, 


I TAKE A RIDE 


27 


one end pointing to his Adam’s apple, the other 
to his right ear. You will agree that no ordinary 
mustache can act like that even in its most aban¬ 
doned moments. When next I looked at him, be¬ 
hold, it was in the conventional position, straight 
across his upper lip! An astounding, intelligent 
mustache that must be capable of moving automati¬ 
cally ! It pleased and interested me exceedingly; 
it suggested the solution of many problems. Such 
an article would remove the terrors of eating soup 
—something of which I’m very fond, but which 
I’ve given up attempting in public. Such a mustache 
could be adjusted, nay, commanded, to any position 
and no longer behave like a strainer. I must try 
and get mine to behave that way, ask him how he 
had trained his. 

“Say, is this your car, boss?” he asked in un¬ 
affected surprise. “I was goin’ to take her to 
the nearest lockup—wherever that is. I thought 
she’d been swiped, see? You don’t generally find such 
things lay in’ round a country road this time of 
night. How’d you come to leave her?” 

Seeing he was such an altogether obliging fellow, 
distinguished, moreover, by owning six fingers and 
a movable mustache, I considered it only proper 
to explain how the car came to be there. He 
listened politely, scratching an ear with the tip of 
the crank, but I wasn’t sure whether he had any 
better understanding than Jensen, for he had an 


28 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


absent-minded way of looking up and down the 
deserted road. 

“You now understand my predicament,” I finished, 
taking out my wallet and giving him a bill for his 
thoughtfulness in cranking the car. “Perhaps you 
can tell me where New York is?” 

“Sure, boss. You’re almost in it. It’s right 
over there.” 

“Where?” 

“There,” he said. “See the lights?” 

I turned to follow his pointing finger, and, sure 
enough, I saw the lights. Indeed, I never saw 
so many in my life as something fell upon my 
head with a resounding crash. Then the lights 
went out as suddenly as they had come, and I 
lost all interest in finding New York. 


CHAPTER II 


I FIND A JOB 

I AWOKE some twelve hours later, toward noon 
* of the following day. 

I now knew that I, and I alone, had been drunk 
the previous night, and had got only what I de¬ 
served. I realized that Bob Hewitt had tried to 
save me from myself, as he had done on other 
occasions, and I was filled with abysmal self-disgust. 
More, I experienced a lively dread when I thought of 
that mad ride from Princeton to Sea Bright—for 
it was near the latter place that it had ended. How 
had I escaped breaking my worthless neck, even 
granting the special Providence which is supposed 
to watch over the fool, sober or otherwise? 

I remembered nothing of that ride but my meet¬ 
ing with the little bronze man and the girl; and 
whether this had really happened, I did not know. 
Rather, considering the impossible coloring of the 
gentleman, I knew the whole affair was merely one 
of the many strange pictures of my delirium. I 
remembered also the agreement I had made with 
Hewitt, and of my discharging Jensen, but all else 
that happened was a complete blank. 

The good Samaritan who took me in was an old 


30 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


farmer by the name of Taylor. It would seem 
that following my assault, the obliging stranger had 
not only made off wth my car, but everythng I 
carried, even down to the clothes I wore. Then he 
had deposited me behind a hedge, where I must 
have lain until early morning, for Taylor now told 
me that on his way to market he had found me 
crawling on my hands and knees from a field. 

“Of course, I wanted to let your folks know 
what had happened to you and where you was, 
Mr. Joyce, but I couldn’t find out nohow where 
you come from,” he finished, beaming on me with 
his kindly, faded blue eyes. 

“I haven’t any folks, nor many friends that 
would care what happened to me,” I said truth¬ 
fully. “How did you know my name was Joyce?’’ 

“Why, from the chauffeur’s recommendation in 
your pocket.” 

So my assailant was a chauffeur, out of a job, 
and desperate, no doubt. And he had been in such 
a hurry to exchange his clothes for mine that he 
had forgotten to remove the telltale paper. 

Now I had no desire to confess my true name 
and the circumstances leading to my assault and rob¬ 
bery, thereby providing a news item for the press. 
The less I said to any one about that crazy ride 
of mine, the better. Dressed in my new outfit, 
I was, to Taylor, merely a chauffeur by the name 
of Joyce, and such I determined to remain for 


I FIND A JOB 


3 i 


the time being. Accordingly I gave him an imagina¬ 
tive account of myself and the night’s happenings, 
yet it bore some resemblance to the truth. 

He was a kindly soul, and, after giving me 
some homely advice about drinking too much, in¬ 
sisted on lending me a dollar, for which I was 
properly thankful. It represented my car fare home, 
for, placed as I was, I doubt if I could have raised 
a penny on my name, certainly not without the 
publicity I wished to avoid. This was the first 
kindness ever done me by a stranger without pay¬ 
ment or hope of reward since my coming into 
the Lawton fortune; the first tribute, as it were, 
to myself as a human being. And, thinking this 
over as I left his humble dwelling, it occurred to 
me that I was missing much in life. 

Not wishing to return to New York until under 
cover of darkness, I set off aimlessly down the 
road, golden in the bright June sun. And presently 
rounding a sharp bend, I came upon a girl and a 
car, both in distress. 

The machine, an expensive two-seater, had had a 
blow-out, and its owner was eying the result. Evi¬ 
dently her motoring knowledge did not extend to 
running repairs, and the car had no spare wheel 
or tire. Evidently, too, her helplessness had reached 
the point of exasperation, for I saw her give the 
damaged wheel a hearty kick, while she exclaimed: 
“There! Take that, you horrid old thing!” 


32 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“It's very provoking,” I agreed, coming up, “but, 
somehow, kicking never seems to do it much good.” 

She started and looked round, having been un¬ 
aware of my approach. Then she looked me over 
carefully and severely. “I don’t need a philosopher, 
thank you, but a mechanic. I’ve been stuck here 
for at least a week, and you’re the first living thing 
that has come along. I hope Providence has sent 
some one that knows something about blow-outs. 
Do you?” 

“Blow-outs of all kinds are my speciality, madam.” 

“Pm only interested in this particular kind. Please 
stop talking and get busy. I should have been at 
the station long ago.” 

She had a very high-handed way with her, but 
then, too, she was very pretty. I know that every 
female in distress is supposed to be beautiful, but 
I can’t help that; this one actually was. In fact, 
she was the girl I had seen the previous night in 
the town car de luxe, proving conclusively that that 
incident had really happened. Of course, if I had 
never seen her before, and if she had been aged, 
ugly, and infirm, it could not have obviated the 
necessity of my helping her; but I must admit I 
would have found considerably less enthusiasm in 
the performance. Also, I would have worked faster. 

“You are very slow,” she remarked, as I jacked 
up the car. 


33 


I FIND A JOB 

“Slow/’ I agreed, “but sure. Don’t you use 
powder in your shoes ?” 

“S-sir!” 

“I was referring to the car,” I explained humbly, 
displaying the interior of the shoe. 

“Oh!” she said, biting her lip. “I didn’t know 
you called that thing a shoe. Are you sure? And 
why should you use powder, may I ask?” This 
very severely and with dignity, as if she still sus¬ 
pected me of undue levity. 

So I explained the necessity of powder, while 
she eyed me doubtfully. “Well, I don’t know 
much about the subject,” she conceded. “No more 
than to drive after a fashion. And the chauffeur 
we had was very careless. This is the first time 
I’ve ever had any vital interest in blow-outs, and I 
think I can do no better than watch you carefully.” 

“I usually charge for giving lessons, but on this 
occasion I waive the fee.” 

“You are very kind, but I refuse to accept it. 
I shall pay you.” And she sat down on the run¬ 
ning board, while I proceeded to affix the patch, 
not the first I had done, by any means, as Jensen 
could have testified. If necessary, I could have 
taken down and reassembled the engine. 

“You do it very well indeed,” she conceded at 
length, her head at a critical angle. “Quite like 
a professional. But it does take an awfully long 
time, doesn’t it?” 


34 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“It all depends on the—er—audience.” 

She pondered this and then decided that there 
was something offensive about it. Perhaps there 
was. But then she was really such a pretty girl 
and, as I have observed, one cannot have too much 
of pretty things. 

“Please hurry/’ she said coldly. “I should have 
been at the station by this time. I’m sure I’ve 
missed the train. You will oblige me greatly by 
not dawdling any more. I don’t care if it’s sure 
so long as it’s quick. All I want is for it to 
hold me till I get to the station.” 

“It is very fortunate,” I murmured. 

“You are impertinent, sir.” 

“A congenital failing,” I confessed. 

“Please go away, leave me, if you can’t hurry 
and—and have some manners.” 

My task reluctantly finished at last, there now 
happened one of those apparently trivial incidents 
which so often decide not only the destinies of 
individuals but of nations, and which, viewed in the 
light of after events, seem like the working of 
Providence rather than chance. Much as I might 
care to prolong this agreeable meeting—agreeable 
in my estimation—I should have walked down the 
sunlit road and out of this charming girl’s life, had 
I not instinctively searched my pockets for a hand¬ 
kerchief, something wherewith to wipe my hands. 
It always pays to be clean, for as I brought out 


I FIND A JOB 


35 


a bandanna from a side pocket, a sheet of paper 
came with it and, fluttering in the gentle breeze, 
fell at the girl’s feet—a very appropriate action. 
She picked it up and was about to hand it to me 
when some writing which it evidently bore—and 
which she could not avoid seeing—caught her eye. 
Her expression changed and she looked at me sharply 
with a new and, I might say, even proprietary 
interest. 

“Why, you’re Joyce!” she exclaimed. “How 
stupid of me not to have guessed it. I might 

have known it by the way you fixed that puncture. 
I suppose it’s against the rules of the union to 

work any faster.” 

I didn’t think her at all stupid and only wished 
I was equally good at guessing. 

“I am Mr. Varney’s niece,” she added. 

“Ah,” I said. It was the only safe thing I could 
say. 

She handed me back the paper which she had 
most obligingly refolded so that I couldn’t see a 

word of what was written on it. “I am Miss 

Gelette,” she said. 

“Ah.” 

“I was on my way to the station to meet you, 
and you see why I didn’t get there.” 

“Ah.” 

“I suppose your trunk’s at the station?” 

“Ah—that is, oh, I mean—ah!” 


36 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Goodness me!” she exclaimed, stamping her foot. 
“Have you got sunstroke? And have you no man¬ 
ners? Are you rude as well as stupid? Don’t 
you understand that I’m your new employer’s niece?” 

Yes, my acute intelligence had unerringly reached 
that conclusion. That paper was the one Mr. Taylor 
had found in my pocket, and which I had for¬ 
gotten about. I wished now that I had read it. 
Tardily enough I removed my cap, clicked my 
heels together, and imitated Jensen’s bow. It is 
a very remarkable and striking bow; you bend 
lightly from the hips and then spring back like 
a child ducking for apples. 

“That’s better,” she conceded. “And now we’d 
better see about your trunk. Did you tell them to 
send it on?” 

“No, ma’am. You see—well, the fact is I haven’t 
got one.” 

“What!” 

“It went astray, ma’am, but I’m sure it will turn 
up all right. I’ve lost more than that—I mean, 
ma’am, I’ve lost it more than once and it has 
always turned up. It’s a very hard trunk to lose. 
They make them that way.” 

“I don’t see how they can. However—let me 

see, what is your first name? I’ve forgotten.” 

“Peter, ma’am.” 

“Well, Peter, I hope you’ll give more satisfaction 
than your predecessor who left this morning. Now 


I FIND A JOB 37 

get that tire or shoe pumped- Oh, it is pumped? 

Very well; now take me to the Octagon.” 

“Beg pardon, but where and what is that, ma’am?” 

“It’s a hotel in Sea Bright. I forgot you weren’t 
familiar with the neighborhood. Hurry up, now.” 

A few minutes later we were riding down the 
back road the way I had come, the road that led 
to the station and Sea Bright. We passed Taylor’s 
little farm, and if he had seen me he certainly 
would have wondered how I had got in touch with 
my employers so soon. 

I think Miss Gelette had not forgiven me for 
having observed her loss of dignity and temper, 
her assault on the damaged wheel, and my unfor¬ 
tunate remarks. And I think it pleased her im¬ 
mensely to discover that I was the new chauffeur, 
she mistress and I servant. For she queened it 
over me with such naive enjoyment that I should 
have hated to disillusion her. It was, “Peter, 
take that turn. Slow down, Peter. To your right, 
Peter,” with a lofty condescension and dignity that 
tickled me greatly. 

We drew up to the big hotel, and she entered, 
leaving me an order to wait. The season, heightened 
by the promised coming of the President to the 
neighborhood, was only beginning, but the verandas 
were filled with the gay four o’clock throng. 

“Well,” I thought, “Hewitt and those fellows said 
I couldn’t get a job, and here I am! As for this 



38 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


fellow Joyce, a fair exchange is no robbery. He’s 
got my car and I’ve got his. And these folks 
are better for the deal. I’ve done them a service, 
for he would only have robbed them.” 

The adventure, if such it can be called, was pre¬ 
cisely the kind which Hewitt would have classified 
as peculiar only to myself; irresponsible, freakish, 
ridiculous—in brief, “One of Pete Lawton’s crazy 
escapades.” And very likely he would have added 
the rider that I wasn’t sober. 

How far I meant to pursue the incident I had 
no idea; but even at this stage I had a faint 
premonition of impending mystery. At least, I 
couldn’t help wondering why the chauffeur Joyce, 
if he was on his way to fill a good position, and 
not out of work and desperate, as I had supposed, 
should conceive the idea of knocking me on the 
head and stealing my car and all I carried. Where 
was the necessity, what the sense in doing such a 
reckless thing? And if he were not expected till 
to-day’s afternoon train, how did it happen I had met 
him in the neighborhood last night? 

While I was thinking over this, Miss Gelette 
appeared, and we proceeded to do some desultory 
shopping, a business I generally abhor. And as 
I was waiting for her at one store, a man came 
up to the car whom I recognized as Jules, the 
ex-chauffeur, who had .sent me sprawling the pre¬ 
vious night, and whose place I now filled. He failed 


39 


I FIND A JOB 

to recognize me, but he knew the car. Evidently 
he had been celebrating his discharge in various 
saloons, instead of going home, and had absorbed 
just enough to be ugly. 

“So you're the new guy that’s got the job 
up to Varney’s?” he remarked, eying me disparag¬ 
ingly. “Well, that’s all they’re fit to have—a cheap 
bonehead from a correspondence school. They don’t 
know how to treat a high-class man. Huh! A fine 
house to work for-” 

“Look here,” I said, finding that the more in¬ 
difference I assumed the louder he talked, “run 
away and tell all that to Sweeny. I’ve troubles 
of my own.” 

“Your troubles is only starting,” he came back. 
“See if they ain’t.” And just then Miss Gelette 
came out of the store. 

Jules turned upon her and proceeded to air his 
opinions more fully. He called her uncle a dodder¬ 
ing old devil, and was starting on her with equally 
choice epithets when I got him by the slack of 
the pants and gave him a good running start to¬ 
ward New York. I imagine the crowd that was 
gathering quickly thought us acting for the movies, 
for they cheered, and then looked disappointed when 
I hopped back into the car and drove off. 

“Home, Peter. Rumson Road. First turn to the 
right,” said Miss Gelette, with unimpaired dignity, 
but rather red in the face, and she sat bolt upright 



40 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


until we had covered several blocks. Then a dimple, 
whose hidden presence I had suspected, suddenly- 
appeared, and she said in the sweet, gracious voice 
of last night: “Thank you, Peter. I see that you’re 
going to do capitally, and I reverse my opinion of 
you; you’re sure—and quick. Very quick when 
you want to be.” 

We covered another block, and then she added: 
“That man Jules blames me for his discharge, but 
he discharged himself by his own conduct. My 
uncle, being an invalid, is rather short-tempered at 
times, but he’s the best of employers. I’m telling 
you this because I don’t want you to be prejudiced 
against the position by anything that man may have 
said. Chauffeurs, satisfactory ones, aren’t easy to 
find these days, as you know.” 

I thought of the many that had passed through 
my hands, and I silently agreed with her. 

“You will take all your orders virtually from 
me,” she continued, “and if you do your work 
as it should be done, you won’t find me a hard 
mistress to serve. Jules lost his position through 
drink, and I’m pleased to know you’re a strict total 
abstainer.” 

I was filled with some inward confusion, and 
repressed a strong desire to laugh. 

“The abuse of alcohol causes at least half the 
misery in the world,” she went on, “and I must 
say it speaks well for a young man of your years 


41 


I FIND A JOB 

that you’ve the sense to recognize that fact.” As 
I was at least five years her senior, it was very 
refreshing to listen to this motherly advice. 

There followed a period of silence, during which 
I sensed her stealing more than one glance at me. 
Many people have looked at me in that stealthy 
manner, my appearance meriting more than a cur¬ 
sory glance, but I felt that something was troubling 
her. I was right. 

“I think, Peter, that I’ve seen you somewhere 
before,” she remarked suddenly. 

“Indeed, ma’am ?” 

“Yes, indeed, Peter. I don’t know when or where, 
but I’m quite sure about it. Your face has 
puzzled me-” 

“It has puzzled more than you, ma’am, in its 
day. It has even puzzled me” 

“I don’t understand you, Peter; you appear to 
have a gift for cryptic expressions. But I mean 
your face is not one to forget-” 

“It is not, ma’am,” I agreed, “I’ve tried it and 
failed. It is like that; you simply can’t forget 
it. I’m puzzled at times to know if it really is 
a face. I know exactly what you mean, ma’am.” 

“You don’t, not in the least,” she said with as¬ 
perity. “If I thought there was anything remark¬ 
ably ugly about you, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. 
However, I’m not in the habit of discussing— 
but I have seen you somewhere. I know I have.” 




42 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Perhaps it was at the British bulldog show, 
ma’am. I was there once, with my boss, and a 
near-sighted old judge tried to give me first prize. 
Honestly.” 

“I’m not in the mood for such attempted humor. 
A thing like this annoys me, not being able to 
remember. Stop the car!” she finished peremptorily. 

I threw out the clutch and clapped on the brakes. 
Turning in her seat, she faced me with eyes hard¬ 
ening from suspicion to certainty. “You’re the 
man we nearly ran over last night!” she exclaimed. 
“Don’t attempt to deny it, for you are! I knew 
I had seen you before.” 

I realized that, unfortunately, prevarication was 
useless. All my great gifts in that direction would 
be wasted here. This little person was not merely 
ornamental; she had brains, and knew how to use 
them. A tongue, too, by the way. 

“Last night, ma’am ?” I said vaguely. “Nearly 
run over, you say?” 

“Yes, I say it, and you know it.” 

“I—I must confess I haven’t a very clear recol¬ 
lection of what happened last night,” I murmured 
contritely. 

“Then I shall tell you; you were drunk!” 

“Drunk! You astonish me, ma’am. You do 
indeed. Is—is it possible?” 

“Yes, it is possible, probable, and a fact. You 
were disgracefully, hopelessly, drunk! You needn’t 


43 


I FIND A JOB 

sit there and pretend you know nothing about it. 
And Mr. Fremstad assured my uncle that you were 
a teetotaler! What have you to say to that?” 

Having nothing to say, I did not say it. I hung 
my head instead. 

Her eyes were contemptuous, her mouth as stern 
as its lines permitted. She was very angry and 
put out. Often I had felt the same way on discover¬ 
ing a jewel of a servant to be the customary paste. 
I felt sorry for her; I yearned to comfort her, to 
assure her—quite untruthfully—that I had never 
been drunk before. 

“You chauffeurs are all alike!” she exclaimed. 
“If it isn’t one thing it’s another. And the more 
satisfactory you seem, the worse you are. And 
so you deceived Mr. Fremstad and hoped to deceive 
us? Of course, it’s quite impossible to engage 
you. I understand now why your trunk went 
astray. Well, you had better go and look for it. 
I can take the car home myself.” 

I was starting obediently to climb past the wheel 
when she demanded: “Where are you going now? 
Sit down, please. Why don’t you say something?” 

“W-what should I say, madam?” 

“Oh, don’t be stupid. Haven’t you any ex¬ 
planation how you came to be in such a disgraceful 
condition? Or am I to infer it’s your usual con¬ 
dition? I am not a narrow-minded person, and I 
quite understand that one unfortunate action doesn’t 


44 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


necessarily condemn any one. I can even believe 
it was your first offense. But I am clearly entitled 
to an explanation of some sort.” 

“Well, ma’am, you see it was this way,” I began, 
with proper confusion. “The Benevolent Brother¬ 
hood of Motor Mechanics gave their annual outing 
yesterday. It was very hot, as you recollect, and 
there was a lot of drinks going round. I was 
very thirsty-” 

“Up to a certain point, I suppose? I can imagine 
the rest. But how did you happen to be in this 
neighborhood last night ? How did you come to 
leave Philadelphia?” 

“I made a fool of myself, ma’am, and got all 
muddled up. I got mixed on my dates. I thought 
I had to come here last night, instead of to-day. 
I got off at Sea Bright and became lost. You 
know how it is when you’ve taken too much ” 

“No, I don’t know anything of the kind. But 
you told us you wanted to find New York.” 

“Did I, really, ma’am? It just shows what a 
fool I was. I’m sure I meant the Rumson Road. 
The truth is, I wasn’t accountable for what I 
said.” 

“I quite realize that. You even imagined the 
appointment you had to keep was attendance at 
your own funeral. Where did you spend the 
night ?” 

“At a small farm near the station owned by a 




45 


I FIND A JOB 

man called Taylor.” And I told of my assault and 
robbery, approximately the same version I had given 
Taylor. 

She looked at me steadily for a long moment as 
I finished: “It was a very disgraceful and humiliat¬ 
ing experience, ma’am, which I’ve taken greatly to 
heart.” 

“I’m sure you have, Peter,” she said kindly. “I 
can see that you’re not the drinking sort, and that 
this has been your first slip. Now, see here, if 
my uncle knew you for the person he met last 
night, you wouldn’t have a chance of retaining the 
situation. But I know he won’t recognize you, 
for his eyes are nothing like mine.” Assuredly 
they were not. “You saved me from an unpleasant 
scene back there, and I’m willing to stretch a point 
in your favor. I shall say nothing to my uncle, 
but only on one condition—that, while in our 
employment, you never touch intoxicants of any 
kind again. I don’t ask you to sign the pledge 
or anything like that. I ask simply for your 
promise.” 

And so, in this strange fashion, I came to utter 
a challenge toward one John Barleycorn, an enemy 
whose increasing dominion over me I recognized 
only too well. How most of my friends would 
have laughed! But it was a promise I gave in 
all sincerity. 


CHAPTER III 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


HE Varney residence proved to be one of those 



modern country houses of the rich that needs 
no describing. It was less ambitious than some 
of its neighbors, and sat well in from the road in 
a good sweep of well-kept ground. The garage 
was commodious and well appointed, having a 
repair pit and accommodation for three cars, these 
including the one I drove, and my old acquaintance, 
de luxe, with the maroon upholstering. The other 
was a touring six. 

It being the dining hour in the servants’ hall 
when I arrived, I proceeded to make the acquaintance 
of the domestic staff, this comprising an aged and 
irreproachable butler called Horace—but to me and 
other inferiors “Mr. Brandon”—the housekeeper, 
cook, and upper and lower housemaids. The gar¬ 
dener came from a neighboring florist. 

The meal was presided over by Mr. Horace 
Brandon with more pomp and dignity than attended 
many dinners I had known in my own circle, 
and, being familiar in some degree with backstairs 
etiquette, I produced a favorable impression. I 
sought after no local information, and was offered 
none. Contrary to popular superstition, there was 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


47 

at this table no scandal, no gossip, no picking of 
their master and mistress to pieces. 

The meal over, I washed down the car and 
retired to my quarters in the garage, armed with 
the New York evening paper kindly given me by 
the butler, who approved of the interest I had 
shown in his remarks on the baseball question. 
Alone in my room, I sat down to think seriously 
for the first time of this adventure on which I had 
entered so lightly and irresponsibly. Surely it was 
high time I made explanations and apologies to 
Miss Gelette. On the other hand, there was my 
wager with Bob Hewitt. Also the incomprehensible 
action of Joyce, which interested me. 

At this point I remembered the letter, undoubtedly 
the recommendation from Mr. Fremstad, which, re¬ 
turned by Miss Gelette, I had had no opportunity 
of reading. Joyce, the original owner, must have 
thrown away or lost the envelope; for had there 
been one, Tayor would not have opened it. I felt 
sure of that; he might be only a poor farmer, yet 
he was one of nature’s gentlemen. I now brought 
the paper from my pocket and read the following: 

Dear Mr. Varney: This is introducing the bearer, 
Henry Joyce, whom I mentioned as about to leave my 
employment owing to my giving up motoring. You will 
find him thoroughly honest, obliging, efficient, and sober. 
I have never had a better chauffeur. Yours sincerely, 

Augustus Fremstad. 


48 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


And I had told Miss Gelette my name was 
Peter! However, that was a small error to what 
I might have committed. Assuredly Joyce had 
egregiously deceived his late employer as to the 
true nature of his character. Toward me he had 
certainly acted efficiently enough, but hardly with 
honesty. 

And now my eyes fell upon the evening paper, 
whose pages I had been turning over aimlessly; 
and I sat up with a jerk, arrested by the following 
headlines: 

Motoring fatality. Peter Lawton, wealthy young 
clubman, killed by Jersey train. Tragic climax of mad 
joy ride. 

It is not often we have the chance of reading 
our own obituaries, and my first emotion was that 
of amusement at the joke played on my friends, 
coupled with a fleeting compassion for the poor 
devil, Joyce, who had not profited long by his 
action. He had been killed that same night at a 
grade crossing near Camden; my five-thousand- 
dollar car had been reduced to scrap, while he was 
so horribly mutilated that identification was only 
possible by the car license, the clothes he wore, 
and the papers found in his pocket. 

Bob Hewitt identified the latter and other per¬ 
sonal belongings of mine, and he told of my leaving 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


49 


Princeton without Jensen; in short, there was no 
shadow of doubt that I was dead, and had met a 
fate which pointed its own moral. 

I knew Hewitt had done his best to cast a decent 
veil over that ride of mine, but others had not, 
and the whole shameful story had come out, as 
it was bound to do. This particular paper set 
out the details with much gusto, and that it 
was nothing but the truth did not make it more 
palatable. Here was its opinion of me in black 
and white, and I can do no better than quote from 
it. 


This tragedy lays another victim at the feet of King 
Alcohol and Too Much Money. It will be remembered 
that “Pete” Lawton was the sensational football find at 
Princeton some half dozen years ago, and held an undis¬ 
puted place on the all-American team. He graduated 
with high honors, and promised to attain great distinc¬ 
tion in the engineering profession when the death of his 
uncle brought him into the Lawton fortune. That ended 
his ambitions, and this last member of an ill-starred family 
proceeded to go the way of all the others. Of late his 
mad escapades have been common talk among the know¬ 
ing, and this catastrophe is the inevitable end. 

Yes, we were an ill-starred family, as the paper 
said, with King Alcohol and Too Much Money our 
inherited enemies. The combination had killed out 


50 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


every male member, until only my Uncle Peter and 
I had remained. 

My father dissipated his fortune and died young, 
while my mother gave her life in giving me mine; 
thus I was brought up in comparative poverty by 
distant relatives, and that was what had saved 
me for the time being. I never expected to inherit 
a penny of my uncle’s fortune. That fortune he 
also would have scattered to the winds, only he 
was unable. It was too large for him, and I 
really believe he left the remainder to me as a 
parting curse, for my father and he had quarreled, 
as only our family could quarrel, and he hated me 
cordially. 

On the few occasions when I saw him, while I 
was working my way through school and college, 
he made sneering remarks about the benefits of 
poverty. He appeared to resent the fact that I 
was in a fair way of making a success of life, 
instead of following his example and all the rest. 
He seemed to consider it an insult to the family. 

“There never was a male Lawton yet that didn’t 
drink,” I remember him saying when he learned I 
never touched it. “What’s the matter with you? 
It’s in your blood, you fool, and you may as well 
make up your mind it’s bound to come out. No 
use trying to reverse nature. The true Lawton 
coat of arms is a demijohn rampant on a bar 
sinister, and the motto: ‘Here’s looking at you.’ 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


51 


Wait till you’ve got some money to spend, and you’ll 
see the end of your precious virtue. With all your 
honest-plowman life and this attempt to dodge your 
destiny, you’ll end your days in a psychopathic ward, 
as your lamented ancestors ended theirs, as your 
dear father ended his, and as I shall end mine.” 

The last part of his prophecy was unfulfilled, 
however, for he broke his neck by falling out of 
the ambulance before ever they got him to the 
hospital. As for the rest, it seemed in a fair 
way of being realized, something I had once thought 
utterly impossible. 

When I came into Uncle Peter’s money—it was 
six months ago—I voted myself the first real holi¬ 
day I had ever known. Of course, I meant it to 
have reasonabe limits. I was going to do an 
awful lot of good with that money, make it a 
blessing instead of a curse, and I talked over all 
my plans with old Mr. Hannay, the Lawton lawyer, 
who had sole charge of my affairs. 

I was going to build and superintend an engineer¬ 
ing school for poor young men, irrespective of race, 
creed, or color, and in a general way I meant to 
help suffering humanity up hill and down dale, and 
all around the block. 

And then, amid new surroundings and in with 
an entirely new crowd, I took my first drink. I 
took it to be a “good fellow,” and because I honestly 
believed I had strength enough to defy all the family 


52 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


traditions going. I would show the world that 
alcohol could never make me its slave, that it was 
simply a question of will power, and that a whole 
lot of nonsense had been talked and written about 
heredity. “Heredity” and “environment” were simply 
the excuses of the weak, the cowardly, the vicious. 

It was Arnold Frean who brought up the matter 
and pushed it home. “You’re afraid of the stuff,” 
he said. “It shows you’re afraid of it, that you 
know it’s your master, when you won’t take even 
one drink. I’ll bet you can’t take one drink, like 
any normal man, and then quit. I dare you to 
try.” 

“I’ve worked my way through college,” I said, 
“and into the business world over obstacles you’ve 
never known. There’s nothing in this world I’m 
afraid of.” 

“Tripe!” he retorted. “Talk’s cheap. You’re a 
Lawton and that’s enough said. You know you 
daren’t.” 

And so, like a fool, I had my first taste of the 
stuff. It’s a wise man who knows his own limita¬ 
tions and weaknesses. There isn’t one in a thou¬ 
sand who likes whisky for its taste; it’s the effect 
most people are after, and it goes without saying 
that the man who craves the taste of it, as a girl 
craves candy or ice cream, is naturally the most 
hopeless case—and I found myself in that class. 

I was like a tiger that had sampled human flesh; 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


53 


nothing else would do me. That one drink was 
enough. I had inherited a sleeping demon, and, in 
a moment of stupid vanity, had awakened it. Too 
late I recognized that I belonged to that class whose 
only salvation is to leave alcohol strictly alone. 
Arnold Frean was right; it was my master, and 
I couldn’t take one drink and then stop like any 
normal person. 

As I now thought over the past six months’ 
events, culminating in what had happened last night, 
I saw that I had come to the parting of the ways, 
that I had taken half measures too long with my 
enemy, and if I was to be saved at all, a fight 
to the finish must begin here and now. Otherwise, 
far better would it be for me if I had been killed 

in Joyce’s place. And what had saved me? How 

had I escaped killing some innocent person during 
that mad ride, even though I had miraculously 

escaped injury myself? It was through no virtue 
of mine. Joyce, sober, had been killed, while I, 
drunk, had escaped. Through some juggling of 
the gods, I had been given another chance. A 

tremendous lesson had been brought home to me. 
Would I have the strength to profit by it? 

I realized fully the terrific battle that confronted 
me; previous skirmishes had shown me that. I 
would have to throw everything into the scale, for 
it was John Barleycorn’s life or mine. 

With the exception of Bob Hewitt and Tommy 


54 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


Ashton, former classmates, together with old Mr. 
Hannay, none had thought it worth while to 

dissuade me from the road I was traveling; and 
I had not taken kindly to the advice of these 

three. Mr. Hannay gave it up early, contenting 

himself with shaking his head. He knew the history 

of my family, and believed nothing could save me. 
Hewitt and Ashton, however, hung on. More 
than once they had urged me to cut the circle 
I had formed, to go away somewhere and spend 
only what I earned. But I laughed at them, and 
then, when they persisted, grew irritable. 

I would never confess my secret fears regarding 
John Barleycorn, never admit he ever got the best 
of me. For all my “mad escapades,” spoken of 
by the paper, I had never been so helpless as I 
was last night. I had done many idiotic, reckless 
things when absolutely sober. It was merely mis¬ 
directed energy, energy stored up through idleness, 
and which I had formerly worked off on the grid¬ 
iron, the classroom, and in the engineering works 
of Cable & Co., where I was employed when my 
uncle died. 

It was clear that my agreement with Hewitt wasn’t 
so freakish as it might appear; it was simply an¬ 
other effort on his part for my reformation, and 
circumstances had lent it added force. I realized 
the truth of his frequent contention that I had 
got in with a bad crowd. “Half of them are 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


55 


grafters,” he said, “and the rest nothing but money 
loafers. You’re one of these men, Lawton, whose 
good-fellowship makes them take up with all sorts, 
and treat them as bosom friends. You’ll never 
make any headway against this enemy of yours until 
you get rid of his allies—that bunch and too much 
money. Chuck the whole lot and get to work.” 

Getting rid of the “bunch” was easier said than 
done—but what if they believed me dead? Why 
not remain “dead” and fight out my battle here, 
unknown, without the handicap of money and in¬ 
fluence. Joyce had been killed, and therefore there 
was no fear of him turning up and exposing me. 

The accident had happened near Camden, and 
none would suspect the substitution that had taken 
place near Sea Bright, miles away. As for this 
Mr. Fremstad, it was unlikely that I would ever 
meet him; but that small risk, together with the 
chance of being recognized by those who knew me, 
I must accept. 

No one could have been better situated for play¬ 
ing dead; nobody was dependent on me. I had no 
business, no weighty affairs to attend to; nothing 
would go to wreck and ruin through my absence. 
No doubt at this moment Mr. Hannay was shaking 
his head over my demise and preparing to dispose 
of the estate according to the terms of my will. 
But before the slow-moving machinery of the law 
could come into full effect I would either have 


56 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


resurrected myself, an undisputed victor over my 
enemy, or gone down to utter defeat and merited 
oblivion, for there would be no half measures this 
time. 

In this manner I came to decide upon keeping 
the name Joyce and the position I had obtained 
as chauffeur to Mr. Theodore Varney. I have set 
out my reasons fully for so doing, and to me, at 
the time, they seemed logical and necessary. Yet 
if, underneath all, the situation had not appealed to 
my peculiar sense of humor, if a certain risk had 
not been attached to it, if Miss Gelette had been 
aged, ugly, and infirm, perhaps those logical reasons 
would have appeared less convincing. 

I met Mr. Varney that same evening on receipt 
of a telephone message from the house. He re¬ 
ceived me in the study, his niece also being present, 
and at the first glance I realized that for all my 
helplessness the previous night, I had made some 
accurate observations; for this was the little, dried- 
up gentleman whose color was greenish bronze, the 
like of which I had never seen before. 

He was seated in a great armchair before a chess¬ 
board, on which was arrayed a problem, a very 
slippery “twoer” by Loyd, which I recognized as 
an old friend. Evidently he had spent some con¬ 
siderable time trying to find the key move, with 
the help of his niece, for as I appeared at the door 
he said irascibly: “Nonsense, Brenda! Can't you 


I HEAR SOME NEWS 


57 


see if the bishop moves your king is checked? 
You don’t seem able to grasp the first principles of 
the game, and the longer you play, the worse you 
get.” 

'‘I know I’m very stupid,” she answered meekly. 
‘'But I only thought that even if the king was 
checked-” 

“You only thought! As if your sex was capable 
of thinking!” 

And then they saw me standing in the door¬ 
way. 

“Come in, my man,” snapped old Varney, and 
he looked me over at leisure with a pair of eyes 
which, for all the girl’s assurances, struck me as 
being remarkably bright and shrewd. 

For a moment I thought all was lost, that surely 
he had recognized me, but he only grunted as if 
satisfied with his inspection, and demanded: “Where 
is the letter from Mr. Fremstad?” 

I was afraid there might have been more than 
one letter, but, putting a bold face on it, I handed 
him the only one I had. 

“H’m,” he said, reading it through, and instantly 
detecting the error I had fallen into. “I under¬ 
stood from my niece that your name was Peter?” 

“Peter Henry Joyce is my full name, sir. Mr. 
Fremstad preferred to call me Henry.” 

“Well, Peter Henry, the first thing you have to 
do is remove that mustache of yours,” he said, 



THE BLACK COMPANY 


58 

with a certain malicious pleasure. “I permit no one 
in my employment to carry around such microbe 
breeders and germ disseminators. If you’ve no 
thought for your own health, I assure you I have 
for mine. What are you staring at? Can it be 
possible you know the classic game of chess?” 
This with elaborate irony. 

“Well, a little, sir. I used to play a bit at the 
Y. M. C. A. of nights.” 

“He knows the game of chess, my dear,” said 
Mr. Varney, turning to his niece. “Truly, servants 
are progressing these days. I shouldn’t be surprised 
if Horace could teach Esperanto and Mrs. Stower”— 
this was the housekeeper—“give tango lessons. This 
is an accomplishment, Peter Henry, that Mr. Frem- 
stad forgot to mention. Perhaps you are also an 
adept at problems and can do me the inestimable 
service of solving this two-mover?” 

“Why, yes, sir,” I said, as if unaware of his 
sarcasm. “It’s the move Miss Gelette mentioned— 
bishop to rook’s fourth.” 

“Oh, no, it isn’t,” he replied sweetly and mali¬ 
ciously. “I’m afraid the Y. M. C. A. isn’t much of 
a school, Peter Henry. It isn’t, because of the very 
elementary truth that if the bishop moves your 
king is checked-” 

“Quite so, sir. But, if I may point out, you 
interpose with the knight-” 

“And Black takes it, you dolt!” 




I HEAR SOME NEWS 


59 


“But it can’t sir, for, of course, you see that it 
exposes check from the queen—double check and 
mate.” 

“Eh?” he cried, staring at the board, his face 
slowly purpling. Then, with one sweep and the 
single exclamation, “Damn!” he sent the men flying, 
knocked over the table, and ordered me from the 
room. 

As I went down the stairs I could hear him angrily 
declaring to his niece that bishop to rook’s fourth 
was the move he had pointed out from the first, 
but that she said it was wrong. 

That night I shaved my mustache, thankful that 
Mr. Varney’s obsession about microbes thus en¬ 
abled me to disguise myself, for its removal caused 
a remarkable change in my appearance, more than 
I had thought possible. It was none of these 
Charlie Chaplin affairs, but a good brush, and when 
I saw myself in the glass, minus it, I doubted if 
my worst enemy would have known me. 

From my interview I realized that Jules might 
not have been far wrong when he predicted that my 
troubles were only beginning—though I never 
guessed the nature and extent of them. Theodore 
Varney was evidently a hard master to serve, and 
for all his years and infirmity I had felt a great 
desire to kick him. He seemed like one of these 
malicious little bronze devils fashioned by the 


6o 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


heathen, and he spoke to his niece as if she were 
a feeble-minded nonentity. I knew her to be high- 
spirited and with a temper of her own, but she 
had taken it all without a show of protest, though 
she had colored faintly when she saw I was an 
observer. 


CHAPTER IV 


A MORNING OF SURPRISES 

THE following morning at ten I was ordered 

■I round with the touring car, and Miss Gelette 
saw me for a moment alone before her uncle ap¬ 
peared. She had to look twice before recognizing 
me, for now I wore putties and the maroon livery 
supplied to Jules. It wasn't a half bad fit, though 
I couldn’t bend over without experiencing certain 
misgivings. 

She eyed my shaven lip and said: “I don’t know 
if it’s an improvement or not. Did you mind 
very much?” 

“Not a bit, madam. I was thinking of getting 
rid of it in the hot weather, anyway.” 

“You’re a philosopher, Peter, and very good- 
natured. I’m so glad you are.” And then Mr. 
Varney appeared, leaning on the gold-knobbed 
Malacca cane he always carried. 

In the bright morning sun his complexion looked 
more startling and sinister than ever, and, for all his 
immaculate and youthful foppishness of dress, so 
haggard and feeble did he seem that instinctively 
I stepped forward to assist him. 

This was a mistake, for he drew himself up and 


6 2 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


said angrily: “To your seat, my man! When I 
need a nurse, I’ll engage one.” And he strutted 
down the steps, twirling his cane, like a macaroni 
of the old school. 

I came mighty near losing my job right there, 
it being on the tip of my tongue to tell him what 
was on my mind, for my humor wasn’t very good 
that morning, despite Miss Gelette’s observation 
to the contrary. After my half year’s holiday, get¬ 
ting up at six o’clock in the morning and over¬ 
hauling three cars wasn’t the joke it seemed the 
previous night. Nor was I used to being talked 
to in that fashion. Moreover, the Demon was awake 
and stirring within me, clamoring lustily for his cus¬ 
tomary morning drink. The fight to the finish had 
only commenced, but already I was sparring for 
wind. 

I felt very irritable and despondent as I took 
the wheel, and, pursuant to a curt command from 
Mr. Varney, headed for the Ocean Boulevard at 
a maddeningly sedate pace. 

“Not more than seven miles an hour, mind!” he 
emphasized, tapping me smartly on the shoulder 
with his cane. “You’re at liberty to break your 
own neck, but not mine.” 

A mad desire possessed me to seize the cane 
and throw it in his face, then let out the engine 
for all she was worth. I was beginning to see the 
other side of the servant question, and I wondered 


A MORNING OF SURPRISES 


63 


guiltily if Jensen and his predecessors had ever 
felt like smashing me. Could I ever have been so 
overbearing as old Varney? Perhaps more so, when 
under the influence of the Demon. 

At mention of my real name, I pricked up my 
ears. Mr. Varney was talking, and I could hear 
plainly above the soft pur of the engine. He 
was discussing the previous night’s tragedy, reading 
snatches of the account from the morning paper, 
which I hadn’t seen. 

“Well, that’s the last whelp of a vile brood gone, 
and a good riddance,” he concluded, with marked 
satisfaction. “It’s the end I always predicted.” 

“Why, did you know the family?” asked his niece 
in surprise. 

“Yes, long before your time,” as if her youth 
were a defect. “Peter Lawton, this one’s father, 
was at Harvard with me. Married Sally Canning, 
of Baltimore, against her parents’ wishes—she was 
a noted beauty—broke her heart and died a drunkard 
at thirty. A bad, worthess lot.” 

“I don’t know,” said the girl slowly. “There 
was nothing ever wrong with them but this, was 
there ?” 

“Well, isn’t that enough?” he snapped, banging 
his cane on the floor. “Is it nothing to be a 
dipsomaniac, and, knowing that, marry an innocent 
young girl? Is it nothing to beget progeny and 
perpetuate a degenerate endless chain-” 



64 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“I know, uncle. I was only thinking that the 
first Lawton who started this curse, perhaps hun¬ 
dreds of years ago, was the real culprit. Think of 
the tragedy of it, of inheriting such a thing through 
no fault of your own-” 

“Pooh! A nice bread-poultice philosophy! Is 
there no such thing as free will? A fine world 
this would be if we were to yield to every mad 
desire! During my long experience Pve found 
that when a blackguard perpetrates some characteris¬ 
tically dirty business, he always lays it to heredity. 
It’s never himself that’s to blame, but his ancestors 
—though they get precious little credit for any vir¬ 
tues he may have. And I say that for Peter Lawton 
to marry was a blackguardly business. It was a 
crime, and the State should punish such crimes or 
make them impossible.” 

“That’s all very well. But if two people love 
each other-” 

“Pooh! If he’d loved her half as well as he 
loved himself he never would have married her.” 

It took some effort to sit there quietly and hear 
my father called a blackguard. Having but the 
vaguest memory of him, I had no means of knowing 
that he had been acquainted with Theodore Varney. 
But as the Canning family had never anything to do 
with me—I was brought up by an impoverished 
maiden aunt of my father—it would seem Varney 
had his facts right when he said my mother married 




A MORNING OF SURPRISES 65 

against her parents’ wishes. Indeed, they had never 
forgiven her, my father, or me. But whether that 
made my father a blackguard was another matter. 

On the whole, however, Varney’s remarks did me 
an immensity of good. They stilled the clamoring 
voice of the Demon; I forgot about it in my 
anger at old Varney. I gritted my teeth and 
^wore that I’d show him the “last whelp of a 
vile brood” was still very much alive, and would 
not end the way he had predicted. I would never 
touch another drop if only to spite him. Thus 
a second unexpected ally came to my help in my 
fight with the Demon; the first was spontaneous 

liking for Brenda Gelette; the second, spontaneous 
dislike for her uncle. 

The girl having been effectually squelched in her 
attempted mild defense of my worthless family, 

they proceeded to talk of other matters; that is, 
old Varney talked, giving his opinion like a 
magistrate from the bench, and not caring whether 
he had an auditor or not. 

It was evident that he had read and traveled 
widely. I gathered that their home was in Phila¬ 
delphia, but they spoke of high official circles in 

Washington, and of New Yorkers I had heard of 
and others I knew rather intimately. It was a 
caution the way the Varney tongue opened out on 
most of them; he had piled up a whole library 

of scandal during his long life, and had forgotten 


66 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


none of it. He seemed to take a malicious pleas¬ 
ure in saying nasty things about everybody, and the 
worst of it was I felt they were right. In many 
instances I knew them to be. 

He paid no more attention to me than as if 
I were part of the car, and when his niece tried 
to steer him off, or hinted diplomatically that he 
lower his voice, he raised it the louder and banged 
on the floor with his cane. 

Jules had called him an old devil, and I was ready 
to concur in the opinion. I wondered why Brenda 
Gelette put up with him, for assuredly she did not 
seem the kind that licks dirt for sake of their 
daily bread or an expected inheritance. But what 
love could a viper like him engender in any one? 
And if not love, then was it fear? These were 
questions I had been asking myself since that inter¬ 
view in the study. 

On our way back through Sea Bright, after a 
funeral procession to the casino in Allenhurst, we 
stopped at the Octagon drug store—a branch of a 
well-known Philadelphia house—and old Varney 
and his niece entered. This was where the girl 
had gone yesterday. 

With characteristic amiability he now remarked 
he could attend very well to his own business with¬ 
out her help, but she said she wished to do some 
shopping herself, and so, grumbling, he let her ac¬ 
company him. He strutted as I had seen him do 


A MORNING OF SURPRISES 


6 7 


before, puffing out his flat chest and swinging his 
cane as if challenging the universe, and for all 
my dislike of the man, I felt a pang of sudden pity. 
I sensed that all this was play acting, a pose to 
deceive the world. That buoyant step and swagger¬ 
ing manner were as artificial as his teeth. 

I am not a person of inspirations, but I got one 
just then. For all Varney’s words about will power, 
did he possess a Demon like myself? Was he a 
secret “dope fiend,” and did his niece suspect it? 
I knew precious little about .medicine, but it seemed 
to me that might account for his peculiar color 
and emaciation; and it would account for his not 
wishing the girl to accompany him into the store 
which supplied him through the Philadelphia one. 

I was thinking over this hypothesis when that 
queer sixth sense which we all possess warned me 
that some one was staring at me, and, glancing up, 
I saw a man standing on the corner. He wore a 
leather cap, with motor goggles shoved up over the 
peak, and he had the high, bulging forehead of a 
mathematician and the rudimentary chin of a de¬ 
generate. As our eyes met, he slowly closed one, 
whose color put me in mind of skimmed milk. 

I looked hastily away, shocked as any old maid, 
so secure had I felt about my disguise. To the 
best of my recollection, I had never seen this fellow 
before, but then, during the past few months, people 
occasionally spoke to me whom I had no recollec- 


68 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


tion of meeting previously, for the Demon was 
not an aid to memory. Clearly this fellow knew 
me for all my changed appearance, and in spite 
of the fact that I was supposed to be dead and 
buried. It would prove rather awkward if he 
greeted me as Peter Lawton before old Varney, 
who might appear at any moment. 

I kept my head turned away, but, out of the 
tail of my eye, I saw him leave the corner and 
come strolling toward me. I heard him coming 
close to the car, something touched my hand, and 
when I looked up there he was, going across the 
street while a small piece of folded paper lay on 
the seat at my side. He was a clever sort, for 
I doubt if any watching eye, from among the 
many that surrounded us, could have detected his 
deft transference of that paper. 

I decided to be equally discreet, and, pretending 
to examine the magneto, unfolded the little cocked 
hat and read: 

The King’s pawn is to meet the Bishop’s at Knight’s. 

Feeling somewhat as did Alice when she went 
through the Looking Glass and met the Red Queen, 
I looked round hastily for the man with the bulging 
forehead, but he had vanished. 

“Now is he a chess crank gone insane ?” I asked 
myself, thinking aloud. “They ought to put him 
in the booby hatch. ,, 


A MORNING OF SURPRISES 


69 

“Eh, what’s that?” roared old Varney in my ear. 

“I—I didn’t mean you, sir,” I stammered, jump¬ 
ing out and opening the door. “I was thinking of a 
chess problem.” 

“Don’t talk to me about chess problems,” he 
snapped. “Only idiots play chess, and the only 
problem you have is how to earn the money I pay 
you.” 

I put the note in my pocket and thought of the 
incident on the way home. “Knight’s what?” I 
asked myself irritably. “Even if the fellow is crazy, 
why couldn’t he name the square and be done with 
it?” 

It seemed to be a morning of surprises, for when 
I pulled in from the road toward the house, I passed 
an empty “bobcat” standing at the curb, and when 
I drew up under the porte-cochere a man of about 
my own age was coming down the steps. I gave 
one look, and then ducked, for it was Arnold Frean, 
the person of all others whom I cared least to see. 

“How d’ do, Miss Brenda? Hello, there, Mr. 
Varney!” he exclaimed, coming forward with sleek, 
bared head and welcoming hand. “What luck! 
Old Horace was just telling me he didn’t know 
when you’d be back.” 

The greetings of both the girl and her uncle 
were cordial; indeed, it was the first time I’d heard 
old Varney do anything but snap. However, like 
us all, it was evident he could be very nice when 


7o 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


he so wanted. He called Frean “my boy,” and in¬ 
quired after his family. 

“Oh, the folks aren’t coming down,” said Frean. 
“They’re off to Lenox, and the governor’ll be doing 
good if he can snatch a week-end now and then. 
I’m down here on my lonely. Been working over¬ 
time, and got a bit under the weather. Doctor 
ordered sea air and the governor voted me a month’s 
holiday. I heard you were trying your first dose 

of the Jersey coast-” And so he rattled on, 

with a very engaging ingenuousness which I knew 
cloaked an experience beyond his years. 

I sat stolidly at the wheel, waiting to drive round 
to the garage when old Varney condescended to 
alight, and, after his first careless glance, Frean 
never gave me another. He had not recognized me, 
but if he was going to prove a frequent visitor 
during his stay, which seemed quite possible, I deter¬ 
mined to run no chances. I would develop “motor 
eye” and take to wearing goggles. 

All in all, things were looking up, and here was 
something more to take my thoughts off the Demon, 
for I knew that Arnold Frean had lied to old 
Varney, and that he was a young man well worth 
watching. 



CHAPTER V 


king's pawn to knight's 


RNOLD FREAN came over the next morning 



** in his car, and was out with Brenda Gelette 
until noon. I viewed the incident with misgiving 
and dislike, though, of course, it was no earthly 
business of mine. Perhaps for that very reason 
I made it my business. Anyway, Frean wasn’t 
the kind that does a girl any good. 

My acquaintance with him was of the briefest, 
but it had left a distinct and unpleasant impression. 
He was one of the gay crowd I had picked up with 
after coming into my Uncle Peter’s money, his 
family was a wealthy New York one, and he the 
only worthless member in it. That he grafted 
generally I didn’t mind, but when he repaid several 
loans I made him by attempting to cheat at dummy 
bridge, I grew hot. 

“Look here,” I said, “if you want money, you’ve 
only to ask me, but I object to being robbed, and 
especially in such a clumsy fashion. A blind man 
could have seen you stack that deck. I’m not a 
fool, Frean, except when I want to be.” 

We were alone in my rooms at the time, the lie 
was passed, and, after a mild passage at arms, he 


72 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


owned up to the cheating and begged me to say- 
nothing about it. 

“The fact is, Lawton/’ he said, “I’m hard up. 
Yes, I know my governor’s rolling in money, and 
that I’m supposed to hold down a good job in his 
Wall Street office. But we had a row, and—well, 
I’m hunting a new berth. You don’t know what a 
rotten old skinflint he is. I wouldn’t work for him 
at any price.” 

I heard later through underground channels that 
Arnold Frean had been mixed up in a shady broker¬ 
age deal, and had only escaped jail through his 
father’s influence. This and an affair with a girl, 
also hushed up, had capped a long series of “in¬ 
discretions,” and his sorely tried parent had at last 
fired him from home and business, lock, stock, and 
barrel. 

It was after the dummy-bridge incident that Frean 
gibed me into taking my first drink, and I know 
now, as I suspected then, that it was his oblique 
method of revenge, for he never deceived me by 
his apparent contrition and affected friendship; he 
had tried to rough-house me, and found it a poor 
business, and I knew he had a knife waiting for me 
whenever he saw a chance of getting it home. 

Understand that I’m not trying to shoulder him 
with the blame of starting me drinking, and I bore 
him no ill will on that score. With all the worst 
intentions in the world, he couldn’t have succeeded 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 


73 


but for my help. He simply gauged my inherited 
failing better than I, and played on my vanity 
and self-confidence. 

I saw little enough of him after that, but I knew 
positively he had not changed his life for the 
better, made up the row with his father, or en¬ 
gaged in any legitimate business. Therefore, what 
he had told Varney was a lie. The elder Frean 
wasn’t one to publish his son’s evil doings broadcast, 
and, as Varney did not live in New York, it was 
evident he knew nothing of what had happened— 
or else he knew and condoned it. 

I was curious to learn more about Varney himself, 
but this wasn’t easy, it being the first time he had 
visited that part of the coast, and therefore trades¬ 
people and neighbors’ servants—the best news 
bureaus—knew nothing about him. Nor could I 
learn anything from the domestic staff, whose mem¬ 
bers, from Horace downward, were all middle-aged, 
and not given to discussing their master or mistress. 
I can’t say there was any conspiracy of silence, 
as if there was something to conceal. 

As I was supposed to hail from Philadelphia, to 
have left the employment of an acquaintance of 
Varney, I couldn’t put any direct questions, and 
nothing was volunteered. I got the impression of 
a loyal and clannish band of servants, devoted to 
their master, and grown old in his service, who 
regarded me as a new member, taken on probation, 


74 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


who could not be admitted to the inner circle and 
the secrets of the house until I had proved myself 
by faithful service. In brief, such a domestic staff 
as you don’t see nowadays, of the old Southern 
darky or English retainer type. Yet old Varney 
seemed hardly the sort to inspire this kind of loyalty 
and devotion; rather, I wondered he could get any 
one to serve him, for I heard him speak to Horace, 
Mrs. Stower, and the equally venerable housemaids, 
Lena and Mary, just as he spoke to me. 

“Nasty old cock, that boss of yours,” said Wil¬ 
liams, the gardener, who came twice a week. “Looks 
like a hop fiend. Say, what was wrong with Jules, 
the other guy that was here? Too much booze?” 

“So I understand.” 

“I thought as much. I told him what would 
happen if he didn’t keep away from Knight’s.” 

“Which?” said I. 

“Knight’s. Oh, you’re new to this part? Well, 
it’s a road house near the Shrewsbury. From what 
I seen of him, Jules would have been all right if 
he’d left the booze alone. I feel real sorry for 
him, for he’s one of these rum hounds, I guess, 
that’s got to quit the stuff cold or take the count. 
You know there’s guys like that, eh?” 

“I’ve heard so,” I said noncommittally. “It’s too 
bad to have such a failing.” 

“It ain’t a failing; it’s a disease,” said Mr. 
Williams. “Jules told me he’d been on the wagon 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 


75 


two years, until he fell off with a bang and began 
hittin’ it up in Philly just before he come here. 
Got in with a bad crowd, see? And stayed with 
’em. I ain’t got no use for a guy that gets another 
guy to booze, knowin’ he can’t take it like a white 
man.” 

I agreed with this excellent sentiment, and that 
evening asked Miss Gelette if I might have an hour 
or so off. She attended to all such matters instead 
of Mr. Varney, who took little to do with the 
running of the house. 

“Certainly,” she said. “Of course, Friday is your 
regular evening. I suppose you wish to see about 
your trunk ?” 

“No, not exactly, ma’am.” 

“But don’t you think you should? It’s about time 
you did.” 

“The fact is, ma’am, I don’t think it will ever 
turn up; it’s lost this time for good. I don’t remem¬ 
ber anything about it, ever getting it expressed or 
put on the train.” Which was the literal truth. 

“I don’t see how you could have lost it, Peter.” 

“Why, ma’am, I even lost myself!” 

“Well, that’s true.” And she smiled. “In that 
case you will need to be buying some things. Here 
is a week’s wages,” handing me two ten-dollar bills 
and a five. “Now remember, Peter, your promise 
to me. Above all, keep away from a place called 


76 THE BLACK COMPANY 

Knight’s. It has a bad name and was the ruination 
of Jules.” 

“Pm sorry, ma’am, but that’s just where I’m 
going.” 

“To Knight’s? And after my telling you the sort 
of place it is?” 

“I can’t help that, ma’am; I’ve got to go.” 

“You don’t; nothing of the sort! However,” 
suddenly checking herself, “it is no affair of mine. 
Of course you can do what you please, go where 
you like, after hours. And you’re not precisely 
a child.” 

“I’m not going there to drink,” ma’am.” 

“Oh,” she said, looking mollified. “What are you 
going for then?” 

“To see about a chess problem.” 

“A chess problem!” 

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve an appointment there with a 
fellow I knew in Philadelphia—I saw him this 
morning in Sea Bright—and he’s very keen on the 
game, too. He has a problem for me.” 

She looked at me for some time in silence. “It 
was honorable of you to tell me you were going to 
Knight’s, and it does you great credit that you’re 
so fond of such an intellectual pastime as chess. 
But I wish this friend of yours had picked some 
other place to discuss problems. It’s only putting 
temptation in your way. However, that is your 
affair, not mine. You must bear in mind that you 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 


77 


won’t have a second chance if there is a repetition 
of what happened the other night. You under¬ 
stand ?'” 

“Yes, ma’am. But I mean to keep my promise. 
If I may say so, it seems to me that running away 
from a thing never did much good. I mean, ma’am, 
you can’t call yourself a victor simply because 
you’ve never given the other fellow a chance to 
beat you.” 

“And in this instance the other fellow is-” 

“Mr. Barleycorn, ma’am.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Then—then that affair of the 
other night wasn’t your first experience ? Come, 
Peter, I want the truth.” 

“I mean you to have it, ma’am. That’s been my 
failing, though Mr. Fremstad knew nothing about 
it. Mr. Barleycorn has floored me more than once, 
but now Pve taken him on for a finish fight.” 

“I hope you win it,” she said. “In fact you 
must. Of course temperance in all things is only 
a means to an end, Peter, but a failing like that, 
if not taken in time and fought to a finish, be¬ 
comes such a frightful vice. As you say, it is a 
bigger and better thing to face the enemy and beat 
him; yet it’s a wise man who knows when to run.” 

“I’d rather face it, ma’am. I can’t be running 
away from every gin mill I meet. I intend to win 
this fight. I’ve given you a promise, ma’am, and 
I mean to keep it.” 



78 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


She looked at me for a moment, and then, as 
if satisfied, dismissed me with the injunction to be 
home before eleven. 

And so the King’s pawn set out to meet the 
Bishop’s at Knight’s as per written instructions. I 
knew far better than Miss Gelette the temptation I 
was deliberately courting, but I had steeled myself 
to meet it. Something, too, far stronger for the 
moment than the Demon urged me on—curiosity 
and love of adventure. 

Knight’s seemed to be well, if not favorably, 
known, for I got minute directions from the first 
passer-by, and a short ride in the trolley brought 
me almost to its doors. It was a garish place 
of the cheaper class, displaying an electric sign, 
showing what purported to be a knight on a charger, 
and it had the inevitable open-air restaurant with a 
boisterous piano and several gentlemen of color 
who posed very badly as musicians. The main 
building had a pool room and bowling alley opening 
off the bar, while upstairs there were rooms to let, 
with or without board. 

I went into the open-air restaurant—though so 
styled, it was little more than a beer garden—had 
a look at the various couples, dodged the attentions 
of several vulpine waiters, had a peep into the pool 
room and bowling alley, and then entered the bar. 

Here I was face to face with the Demon in his 
lair, and the mere smell rose up and took me by 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 


79 


the throat. I need not try to analyze my feelings, 
all I suffered. If you’ve ever had the craving, you’ll 
know what I mean; if you haven’t, then nothing 
I might say would give you an adequate idea. Just 
think of any normal desire you’ve had when it 
has reached the aching point, then double it twice 
over. 

I’ll admit I had to conjure up and take a firm 
grip of everything I held sacred—such as my promise 
to Miss Gelette—to keep me from making a bolt 
right there for the bar and drinking my back teeth 
awash; but I fought it down and looked round for 
the man I had come to meet. I didn’t see him, 
however, among the fair-sized crowd, and I was 
thinking the suspicions I had formed were all wrong 
when a curiously dead voice at my elbow whispered: 
‘The Bishop’s pawn.” 

I turned to confront the man with the bulging 
forehead, rudimentary chin, and pale-blue eyes, eyes 
that were as lifeless as his voice. He was dressed 
now in sober black, and, with his colorless face, 
he somehow put me in mind of such cheerful things 
as the mattock and the shroud. Indeed, he looked 
what a gravedigger is supposed to look like, but 
seldom, if ever, does. 

“The King’s Bishop’s pawn,” he repeated, in the 
same discreet, dead voice. 

“The King’s pawn,” I answered, aware I was 
supposed to say something. 


8o 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


Evidently this was the correct formula, for he 
motioned me politely to a table in an obscure 
corner of the back room, and called a waiter. I was 
about to remark that I was “off the stuff” when 
he saved me the trouble by asking gravely whether 
I preferred ginger ale, root beer, or lemon soda. 
“For myself,” he added, “I take buttermilk when¬ 
ever I can get it. It’s really excellent here.” 

So I said to make it two and the waiter brought 
a three-pint pitcher and a dish of pretzels. I mar¬ 
veled that such an order could be served in the 
place, but as we were served without bloodshed, 
it would seem that this wasn’t my companion’s first 
buttermilk orgy at Knight’s. Of course, after a 
thick night, buttermilk is the best thing one can 
drink; so no wonder they had it in stock. Doubtless 
it was in frequent requisition by the patrons. 

“Your name, I understand, is Joyce?” said my 
companion politely when we were alone. 

“Yes, that’s right. And yours?” 

“Corby,” he replied, raising his lifeless eyes to 
mine. 

There is a peculiar suitability in some names; 
but then this might be an assumed one. Or per¬ 
haps he was unaware that the Scotch call a crow 
or raven a corbie. “Muckle black corbie”—that’s 
what he looked; a carrion crow, a foul bird of ill- 


omen. 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 


81 


“You come from headquarters?” he pursued. 

“Yes, that’s right. And you?” 

“New York.” 

It followed then that headquarters, whatever that 
might represent, wasn’t in New York. Where 
was it ? 

He raised his glass and murmured softly: “The 
Black Company.” 

“Long may she wave!” said I heartily. 

“I beg your pardon, sir?” 

“Merely a figure of speech, Mr. Corby—like 
the black flag, you know. Vive le Black Company! 
Here’s to it.” And we pledged the sentiment in 
buttermilk. 

“You haven’t been with us long, Mr. Joyce?” 

“No, not very—that is, comparatively speaking. 
You see, what may seem long at one time may seem 
short at another; it is merely a matter of conditions 
and circumstances,” I replied, aware that the skating 
was pretty thin, and feeling exhilarated at the pos¬ 
sibility of crashing through up to my neck at any 
moment and without warning. 

“And yet,” he said meditatively, “you’re attached 
to the King himself.” 

“Quite so,” I agreed, endeavoring to look more 
important. “As you say, the King himself.” 

“You must have made good right off the reel 
and in no uncertain way.” 

“Quite so; of course. Certainly.” 


82 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“In what particular way, may I ask?” 

“That, Mr. Corby, is a deep secret. I simply 
can’t tell you,” I replied with refreshing candor. 
“It is a secret between—er—well, you understand?” 

To my relief he did, though I didn’t. He 
nodded. “You mean the King?” And he regarded 
me with increasing respect. 

“Quite so; the King—God save him. Let us drink 
to the King, Mr. Corby.” 

We had another go at the buttermilk, a cold¬ 
blooded, miserably unresponsive beverage, especially 
when one is after information. You cannot get ex¬ 
cited and enthusiastic over buttermilk; it doesn’t 
unloosen tongues and fill one with good-fellowship, 
make you forget the rent is overdue, or anything 
like that. I believe the death of Caesar was plotted 
on buttermilk. Now a good bottle of the stuff that 
killed father—I could drink Mr. Corby under the 
table, and Corby, for all his present passion for but¬ 
termilk, was no natural-born milk fiend. I guessed 
that; I knew his type—the pale kind of souse that 
can lap up hooch like a sponge. If he wasn’t 
taking it, he had a good reason; perhaps he was 
just getting over a burst. But if I persuaded him? 
He had nothing on me when it came to punishing 
redeye; not for nothing had I and my family paid 
homage to King Alcohol. To warm this human 
refrigerator sitting opposite me, to unloosen his 
tongue, to make him glow and enthuse over this 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 83 

mysterious adelphia and part with further informa¬ 
tion—surely I was justified! I had always drunk 
for pleasure, but this would be business, a sacred 
duty. 

And then I remembered my promise to Miss 
Gelette and knew that the Demon, with his usual 
specious arguments, had been trying to get to 
windward of me again. He had thought to take 
me in an unguarded moment and by this new device. 
Moreover, the thought came that if Corby’s total 
abstinence was enforced, then mine might be ex¬ 
pected to be so too. It might be a cardinal rule of 
this secret society that such measures were obligatory 
at certain times—say, while its members were on 
active duty, carrying out some undertaking. By 
ordering whisky, and persuading Corby to indulge, 
I might awaken suspicion if not actually betray my¬ 
self. 

So I returned to my buttermilk, with an inward 
grimace, and, as it turned out, I had no need of 
artificial stimulant—virtue being thus rewarded for 
once—for Corby obligingly parted with more in¬ 
formation of his own volition, and very astonish¬ 
ing information it was. 

“I’m down here in charge of a new member,” 
he said. “Of course you’ve heard of him?” 

“Oh, yes; certainly.” 

“You saw him at the house?” 

Had I? I tried to think of all the people who 


84 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


had called at the Varney’s. But was it their house 
he meant ? 

“I mean Frean, of course,” said Corby. 

“Oh, of course,” said I. “Yes, I know him, 
but he doesn’t know me. I mean he doesn’t know 
I’m a member.” 

“No, of course,” said Corby again. “Were you 
not instructed as to that?” raising the dead eyes 
to mine. 

“No,” I said boldly, seeing it was a case of 
plunging. “I was told nothing about him.” 

“You will in good time. I don’t think I’ve 
exceeded instructions in telling you now. You know 
the precautions against possible treachery that we 
must take with new members before they’ve been 
thoroughly tested. The idea is for you also to be a 
watch on him without his knowing.” 

“I see; a very good idea. No doubt my orders 
to that effect will come later. You knew me, of 
course, because of my being with old Varney?” 

“Certainly. We finished a good job, begun 
through headquarters, with your predecessor.” And 
he smiled in his melancholy fashion. 

I was afraid to put any further questions, the 
man being no fool if that forehead of his went 
for anything, and after an aimless general con¬ 
versation, principally about motor cars, he finished 
off the last of the buttermilk and proposed a rubber 
of pinochle. This was played without stakes, very 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 85 

cleverly on his part, but in the lifeless way peculiar 
to him. Then he murmured that he would have 
to be getting along, and, our riotous evening at an 
end, we adjourned to the sidewalk. 

He accompanied me into Long Branch, and then 
gave me a hand like a dead fish. “Good night, Mr. 
Joyce. Friday evening is your regular one off? 
Then you will always find me on that evening at 
Knight’s.” 

“Where is Frean stopping?” 

“At the Queen, here.” I knew this to be the name 
of a local hotel, so he wasn’t referring to another 
piece on the strange chessboard. “I’m his chauffeur. 
You’ll know not to recognize me, of course, until 
we meet in the regular way. Even then it won’t 
do to be seen too much together, and until you 
get your orders, be sure not to let Frean see that 
you know him. It might get me in hot water at 
headquarters.” 

He left me, and when I got home, Horace in¬ 
formed me that Miss Gelette wanted me to fix an 
incandescent in the drawing-room. 

I soon saw that this business about the light 
was only an excuse, that Miss Gelette wished to 
see for herself if I had kept my promise; for as 
I put in the bulb, she came and stood very close 
to me as though to catch the aroma of John 
Barleycorn or any disinfectant I might have used, 
so close indeed that it was all I could do to keep 


86 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


from kissing her. I am really not given to promiscu¬ 
ous embraces, nor philandering in any form, but 
when a very pretty and charming girl- How¬ 

ever, you’ve been in the same position yourself and 
know the temptation. 

“You’re home early, Peter,” she said, apparently 
satisfied and pleased when she saw I was eminently 
sober. “I see you are to be trusted. Well, did you 
see your friend and get the chess problem?” 

“Yes, ma’am. But I haven’t solved it yet.” 

“Is it so difficult then?” 

“Yes, a real brain-twister, ma’am.” 

“You must show it to me some time,” she smiled. 
“I’m very fond of the game myself. By the way, 
are you a strong player?” 

“Pretty good, ma’am. Of course, it all depends 
on my opponents.” 

“I think you’re too modest, Peter. I’ve an idea 
you’re a very good player, that you must have a 
natural gift for the game; for, of course, you 
can’t have had the opportunity of playing much. 
And so I’m going to ask you something. It is 
possible that my uncle will want you to play with 
him some night. He’s a crank on the game and 
will play with anybody he can find—if he thinks 
he can beat them. You understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve met players like that—and 
not only at chess. It’s a fine game so long as they 
always win.” 



KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 87 

“Well, Peter, if you can beat him, will you try 
not to ? I’m quite sure you’re clever enough at 
the game to lose it in such a way that he’ll never 
suspect. You’ll put up a good fight; but you’ll 
let him win, won’t you?” 

“Certainly, ma’am, if you say so; and of course, 
he may be able to beat me without any faking.” 

“I’m sure he can’t; he’s not half so good a 
player as he thinks he is—though I wouldn’t let 
him know that for the world. If you let him beat 
you, it will mean nothing to you, but a great deal 
to him—and to me. You won’t forget, Peter? 
Thank you so much. Oh, and another thing, 
Peter; please don’t try to help him, as you did the 
other morning. It was very good of you, but he 
doesn’t like it.” 

Alone in my room, I thought over my meeting 
with the Bishop’s pawn and the problem he had 
set me. I was reckoned a very strong player, 
having played top board for my university, but 
here was a chess game of another kind into which 
I had stumbled, thanks primarily to getting drunk. 
The interview at Knight’s confirmed the suspicions 
I had been forming since the receipt of that strange 
message, and now, with pencil and paper, I set to 
work on the problem. Here is what I evolved: 

A secret society known as the Black Company, whose 
members represent the black set of chessmen, therefore at 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


least sixteen in number—viz., King, Queen, two Bishops, 
two Knights, two Rooks, and the eight Pawns. They 
are black, say, because it represents evil, and they play 
against the white—meaning good—which may stand for 
Society in general 

The headquarters are in Philadelphia, but its members 
are scattered over different cities, and some of the pawns 
aren’t known to one another by sight, because it is clear 
that Corby can’t ever have seen Joyce. It’s not a case 
of “doubles,” for though Joyce approximated my height 
and weight, color of hair and mustache, Hewitt would 
have known unquestionably it wasn’t I, if the remains 
hadn’t been so badly mutilated. These pawns are attached 
to and serve under the orders of the various subleaders— 
Bishops, Knights, Rooks. 

For some reason, at present quite obscure, it was 
planned to replace Jules, Varney’s chauffeur, by a mem¬ 
ber of the Black Company. To this end, and in order 
that his discharge would occur naturally, they discovered 
and played upon his old weakness for drink. Begun in 
Philadelphia, it was finished here. Joyce, the King’s 
pawn, came to take his place, probably on forged recom¬ 
mendation papers. 

Queries: Of precisely what nature is the Black Com¬ 
pany? Is Theodore Varney a member? If so, why the 
campaign to get Joyce placed here? Was it to deceive 
his niece or some one else? 

Why did Joyce act as he did, instead of coming here 
to fill the position? Did he get cold feet at the last mo¬ 
ment, is such defection punishable by death, and did he 
try to make his escape, changing his identity to mine? 


KING’S PAWN TO KNIGHT’S 89 

This is a feeble explanation, but the only one I can ad¬ 
vance at present. 

How long can I play the role of Joyce? Clearly, if 
I make no mistakes, until such time as a member appears 
who knew him by sight. Perhaps long enough for me to 
discover and checkmate whatever move they’re up to. 
They don’t know that Joyce is dead and buried under 
my name. 

After some further speculation, which led me 
nowhere, I destroyed the paper and went to bed, 
where I dreamed that Corby, a gigantic and animated 
black bishop, was trying to drown me in a vat of 
buttermilk. 


CHAPTER VI 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION 

B Y the sober light of morning, if I had been in¬ 
clined to regard the Black Company as a myth, 
and the man Corby as a harmless lunatic, such 
thoughts would have been dispelled by a letter 
which came to me through the mail. It was post¬ 
marked Germantown, which, as you may know, 
is a suburb of Philadelphia, but the single sheet 
of paper bore no address nor date. 

It contained merely what purported to be a type¬ 
written game of chess in the algebraic notation, and 
at the bottom was appended the letter and numeral, 
E8—which had nothing to do with submarines or 
torpedo boats. 

Here, then, was my first message from the head 
of the Black Company, for there was no doubt 
that this was their secret code, bearing the King’s 
signature. Obviously, this code was only used when 
there was danger of messages falling into alien 
hands; thus there had been no necessity for Corby 
to employ it in his note to me. 

To those who are familiar with the algebraic 
notation, I may explain it briefly. Beginning with 
White’s queen’s rook’s square—the first square on 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION 91 

the left-hand side of the board if you play White— 
the eight squares across the board are lettered from 
A to H, while down the board they are numbered 
from 1 to 8; thus each of the sixty-four squares 
has its own letter and number. T1 representing 
the White king's square, E8 is therefore the Black 
king's. It is unnecessary to give the entire game 
as it appeared, but the opening moves were those 
of the Ruy Lopez, Morphy Defense, and were as 
follows: 1. Pe4, Pe5. 2. KH3, Ktc6. 3. Bb5, Pa6 
—and so on for a matter of twenty odd moves. 

It may be seen at a glance the possibilities in 
this for a clever code, utilizing both letters and 
number, whose apparent innocence would disarm 
suspicion. And though I have dabbled extensively 
in cryptograms and secret writings of all kinds, 
such things appealing to my mathematical bent, I 
may say here that, to my knowledge, this was the 
first time such ingenious use was made of the 
algebraic notation. That it held a secret code I 
was sure, from the significant fact, aside from all 
else, that no such game could ever have been played, 
the majority of the moves being quite impossible. 
They were there merely for the necessary purpose 
of the code, though this fact would not be detected 
except by a chess player trying over the game. 

I had the code, but to read it without the key 
was another matter, and try though I did, familiar 
as I was with many, and the methods of detection, 


92 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


this one baffled me completely. I set my wits to 
working, and the result was a pair of handsomely 
inflamed eyes produced by a little elbow grease 
and black pepper. Heroic measures, perhaps, but 
they looked far worse than they were. 

“Mercy!” exclaimed Miss Gelette, as I appeared 
with a pair of smoked goggles, bought the previous 
evening in anticipation of a close scrutiny from 
Frean. “What’s the matter, Peter?” 

“Motor eye, ma’am,” I said, giving her a look. 
“I get it now and then. No, doctors are no use, 
thanking you all the same. There’s nothing for it 
but smoked glasses till it wears off. I can still 
drive, though.” 

“You won’t have to to-day, at any rate,” she 
said. 

Just then Frean drove up, with Corby sitting 
in the rumble. Frean gave me a good stare as he 
passed into the house, and I loafed out, presumably 
to have a look at the car. 

“My lamps have gone bad,” I said to Corby, 
raising the goggles to verify the statement. “I’ve 
just had a code message from headquarters. Will 
you read it? It’s nothing but a blur to me.” 

“Stand between me and the house and slip it 
to me,” he said. 

I passed him the paper, and he decoded it quickly 
from memory, writing it on the back. “Be sure 
to destroy it,” he said, slipping it to me as Frean 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION 93 

and the girl came out of the house. And when 
they reached the car, they found a couple of 
chauffeurs, chance met, talking shop. 

Alone, I had a look at what Corby had written: 

Keep an eye on new member Frean, and report first 
hint of treachery. 

This was no more than Corby had told me at 
Knight’s, and my hope of learning something fur¬ 
ther about the Black Company thus came to naught. 
All the same, I now possessed a valuable weapon— 
the key to the secret code, for with Corby’s trans¬ 
lation as a working guide,' I at length hit upon 
the method used. In future I would have no trouble 
with messages. 

That evening, as Miss Gelette had predicted, old 
Varney did me the honor of asking me to play 
chess with him. He had called it an idiot’s game, 
but, having recovered from his rage at the problem 
he couldn’t solve, he was back at his old beloved 
vice. I could see that the game was a vice with 
him, like drink or gambling, and that for its sake, 
he was ready to waive even class distinction, im¬ 
placable Bourbon though he was. 

It was his only pastime so far as I could see; 
he had no visitors but Frean, no companionship 
but that of his niece, and, save for a daily sedate 
motor ride, when the weather permitted, spent all 
his time shut up in the study, browsing among his 


94 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


impressive collection of books, of which chess manu¬ 
als were no small part. 

'‘Well, Peter Henry,” he said, rubbing his yellow 
claws, “we’ll see if you’re as good a player as a 
problem solver. But tell me, had you ever seen 
that two-mover before? I thought so.” He 
chuckled maliciously. “You simply got the answer 
out of a book, I’ll be bound. Well, I give you 
choice of men. Which will you have?” 

“Black, sir. I’m partial to the Black Company,” 
watching him covertly, but he gave no sign that 
this had a hidden meaning for him. 

He proved a better player than problem solver, 
but even so, I should have beaten him with little 
effort and much pleasure, had it not been for his 
niece’s request. However, I pushed him hard for 
over an hour, and then let him pull off a pretty 
but unsound mating combination, into which I had 
helped maneuver myself. 

The change that took place in him during the 
game was really wonderful; his mummified look 
slowly disappeared, his eyes sparkled, his cheeks 
flushed, and he looked twenty years younger. All 
the venom and bitterness of the man was sponged 
out, and when he called mate it was not with malice, 
but with the naive delight of a child proud of 
its own successful efforts. 

“See here, my dear. Look at this!” he exclaimed 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION 95 

to his niece, who entered just then. “A brilliant, 
a gem, not unworthy, I think, of some of Morphy’s 
or Capablanca’s.” And he proceeded to point out 
and explain the combination which had led to my 
downfall. 

If she detected its unsoundness, she gave nothing 
but praise, expressing an admiration and delight 
equal to his own. “Then it was a good game, 

uncle? I knew it must be, because you were so 
quiet.” 

“An excellent game!” exclaimed Varney, beaming 
and rubbing his hands. “One of the best I ever 
played. This young man is a worthy opponent, 
and, after he has learned the finer points, should 
be ready to tackle anybody. Peter Henry,” he 

went on, with great formality and courtesy, “I 
beg to withdraw any slurs I may have cast on 
your teachers and your knowledge of chess. Un¬ 
fortunately, Fve the devil’s own temper at times, 
and you must not mind an old man’s evil humors. 
Brenda, my dear, will you make a note of the 
fact that Peter Henry’s wages are raised seventy- 
five dollars per month?” 

“But I’d rather not, sir, if you don’t mind,” I 
hastened to say. “I play for love of the game 
and I don’t want or expect any extra pay. I 

couldn’t think of it, sir.” 

“That’s all very good,” he replied; “but extra 


96 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


service is entitled to extra pay. Now that’s enough; 
you speak well, but no man serves me for nothing. 
This isn’t our last game by any means; I shall 
take pleasure in demonstrating to you, in actual 
play, the finer points.” 

“That’s very good of you, sir.” 

“Not at all,” he said with a regal gesture. “Your 
skill makes you worthy of being my pupil; I’ll take 
pleasure in coaching you. You play a very sound 
game, and if I do say so myself, it is no humilia¬ 
tion to be beaten by me. Capablanca himself might 
be excused for falling a victim to that last mating 
combination. A gem, a brilliant!” And he turned 
again to the board, chuckling and rubbing his hands 
as he pondered anew the clever trap I had helped 
to set and spring. 

This, then, was the beginning of a change in 
my attitude toward Theodore Varney, and I was 
soon convinced that my ideas regarding him must 
be altogether wrong, for Miss Gelette spoke to 
me fully the following day. 

“Peter, you’re a jewel,” she said in her im¬ 
pulsive, unreserved way. “I know very well you 
conspired to bring about that ‘brilliant,’ to have 
yourself beaten after a most exciting game. You 
kept your promise. I don’t know how you were 
able to do it without giving yourself away. You 
must be a far better player than I thought. At 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION 97 

any rate, the result is that you’ve put him in 
the best humor I’ve seen for months.” 

“It did seem a bit of a tonic, ma’am. He’s 
quite chipper to-day.” 

“Yes, you’ve done him more good than a dozen 
doctors. The mind can conquer the body. You 
haven’t a gift for asking questions, Peter—which 
is another thing I like about you—and we are 
a close corporation here, as no doubt you’ve dis¬ 
covered. But I wish you to know now just what 
is wrong with Mr. Varney; it will help you to 
understand and condone things. I’ll speak frankly, 
for I’ve found you are to be trusted. I told 
you my uncle was something of an invalid, but 
the truth is, he’s a hopeless one, a sufferer from 
Addison’s disease. Have you ever heard of it?” 

“No, ma’am, I can’t say I have. I’ve heard 
of Addison, of course-” 

“No, no, it’s not that one. I had never heard 
of this disease either; I don’t think many people 
have. It’s very rare and peculiar, known also 
as Bronze Skin, and it isn’t infectious or contagious, 
you understand. The symptoms are a gradual dark¬ 
ening of the skin, increasing emaciation, and debility. 
There is no cure. There is nothing to do but grin 
and bear it—to the end. Peter, do you under¬ 
stand?” she finished, with misty eyes. “You see 
yourself growing a little darker, a little weaker 



THE BLACK COMPANY 


every day, a little more repulsive, a stride nearer 
the grave—and nothing can be done. Nothing!” 

“It must be very hard,” I said. “Hard, too, 
for those who love him.” 

“It is, Peter. Think of one of your own loved 
ones dying slowly before your eyes, and you know¬ 
ing that all the care, all the money and skill in 
the world are of no avail. It’s the knowledge of 
one’s helplessness, the inexorable and insidious prog¬ 
ress of the disease that’s so maddening.” 

“You’ve had the best specialists?” 

“Yes. So many, in fact, that Mr. Varney can’t 
bear the sight of a doctor. He knows that he’s 
doomed, but, having always enjoyed the best of 
health, and having led a very active life, he refuses 
to let the world see how hard he is hit. He 
pretends nothing is wrong, and we must pretend, 
too. That is why he came down here where he 
wasn’t known—to get away from the sympathy of 
friends, the vulgar curiosity of others. He has 
a very rare disease, and is therefore to be stared 
at and questioned, watched and examined by doc¬ 
tors, as if he were a clinical subject. He has 
become hypersensitive, and you mustn’t let him 
see that you know; you must help to play the 
tragic farce. You will, won’t you, Peter? And 
you won’t mind if, when he has his bad days, he 
says spiteful things he doesn’t mean? He’s suffer¬ 
ing, you know; suffering all the time.” 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION 99 

“He may say anything he pleases, ma’am, if it 
helps him any.” 

“Peter, I owe a deep debt of gratitude to Mr. 
Fremstad for having that accident and in conse¬ 
quence giving up motoring. I say this, even at the 
risk of spoiling you. All the other servants have 
grown up, you might say, in our service, but the 
chauffeur’s position has always been a worry and 
nuisance. None of them could stand my uncle’s 
sharp tongue, and I’m sure I couldn’t blame them 
at times. They had no opportunity of knowing, 
like the other servants, what a really good and 
kind man he is at heart. He pretends to be a 
cynic, but is one of those who likes to jeer at the 
world, while carefully hiding all the good he does. 
His nature has been warped through a very keen 
disappointment and sorrow he experienced long ago, 
and which he has never got over; this, added to 
his present physical suffering, makes him appear 
quite a different sort of character than he really is.” 

The growing favor in which I found myself with 
Varney and his niece was soon reflected in the 
servants’ hall. Sympathy with their master and 
the willingness to enter into the “tragic farce” 
was evidently the passport to their confidence, and 
I gathered enough material at various odd times 
wherewith to piece together the family history. 

It was quite innocent and intensely respectable, 
hinting of nothing dramatic, let alone such a bizarre 


100 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


concern as the Black Company. The family was 
an old Philadelphia one, and Varney’s fortune was 
inherited. He had never engaged in business, was 
always something of a recluse, but had done an 
immense amount of philanthropic and educational 
work without his name appearing or any sort of 
advertising. He was a bachelor, and a brother 
and his niece were his only relatives. Brenda 
Gelette was an orphan, had made her home with 
him since early childhood, and was wealthy in her 
own right. She was devoted to her uncle, and 
had cheerfully given up all social pleasure and the 
society of friends when Varney was stricken with 
his peculiar and deadly complaint. 

To sum up, I was presented with a very human, 
simple, and not unheroic picture; an old man, soured 
by youthful disappointment, yet sweet at heart, 
goaded by pain and his impending doom to fierce 
invective against even those whom he loved best. 
A man of unconquerable pride and spirit, who was 
dying on his feet, and dying game. A body of 
loyal and devoted servants, and a niece whose 
self-sacrifice stopped at nothing. 

It was a picture whose immediate truth, as it 
slowly unfolded itself to me, there was no denying, 
and my theory that Varney was a “dope fiend” and 
a member of a sinister secret society had to go 
overboard wholesale. Yet that there was some con- 


I ACQUIRE VARIOUS INFORMATION ioi 


nection between him and those styling themselves 
the Black Company was self-evident, and if they 
were not with him, then they must be against him; 
if they were not his friends, then they must be 
his enemies. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 

IT was nearing the end of the third week, and I 
had got no “forrarder” with the Black Company. 
No other messages in the algebraic notation had 
followed, and though I went to Knight’s on Friday 
evening to absorb buttermilk and play pinochle 
with Corby, I learned nothing further. We drank 
solemnly to the Black Company, but that was all 
that was said about it. 

Indeed, I could well believe myself the victim 
of a hoax or that Corby was a lunatic, were it 
not for the man himself. That dead-white face of 
his, with its bulging forehead, fishy eyes, and small, 
pointed chin, that passionless, exact manner, began 
to get strangely on my nerves. 

The more I saw of him the more convinced I 
was that, sane or not, whether the Black Company 
was the single aberration of an otherwise sound 
intelligence, and he himself had sent me that code 
message, the fellow was a degenerate and scoundrel. 
This conviction was conveyed to me by nothing 
he said or did, for his conduct and language couldn’t 
have been more circumspect. It was simply the 
indefinable and sinister aura he projected, that of 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 


103 


the simon-pure enemy of society doomed by heredity 
to the ways of crime. 

I felt that here was a man who would do murder 
in the same passionless and efficient manner he 
played cards—and the doing of it would trouble him 
just as little. That he was no roistering villain, the 
sort that kills in the heat of fury or drink, made 
him all the more dangerous. Nor was he the 
type of politico-social or religious fanatic; no wrongs, 
fancied or otherwise, of race, class, or creed would 
ever obsess him. If he pursued the ways of crime, 
it would be simply and wholly for profit. I 
suspected intemperate depths to him which his 
buttermilk diet belied; a nature which, when the 
need of self-repression had gone, would delight to 
wallow in abysmal abominations. 

Granting the existence of a blackmailing society, 
I got no support for the theory that it was pre¬ 
paring to terrorize Mr. Varney out of a certain 
sum of money. Equally futile appeared the one 
that for some reason he was marked down for 
vengeance. True, I was supposed to be an ac¬ 
credited spy in his household, yet I reported nothing; 
nothing was demanded of me but to help keep an 
eye an Frean. 

Almost three weeks had passed, and nothing was 
happening. Yet I was conscious that all the time 
a whole lot might be going on underground, of 
which I was supposed to know everything, but 


104 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


in reality knew nothing. Perhaps the hour for my 
active participation had not arrived. 

Until that hour came, until I learned something 
definite, I considered it useless to hint of my sus¬ 
picions to any one. If Varney was an ex-member 
of the Black Company, marked down for some 
past treachery, he would certainly deny the fact, 
even though in fear of his life. If there was 
another and less respectable side to the philan¬ 
thropic-educational medal he had worn for so long, 
he would continue to hide it strenuously from his 
niece and the world. I had really nothing to offer 
but unsupported testimony that Jules’ discharge had 
been engineered, and that would mean I must con¬ 
fess I wasn’t Joyce. For this I wasn’t prepared. 

Naturally, I couldn’t play my present role for¬ 
ever, but I was in no hurry to advance the day of 
confession. The arguments which had induced me 
in the first instance to assume the role had grown 
stronger, if anything, with advancing time. I was 
waging a good fight with the Demon, and in no 
small measure was helped by my surroundings. 
The courage with which old Varney fought his 
losing battle against a far more terrible demon 
than mine—Demon Death—was inspiring, while the 
faith and confidence reposed in me by Brenda 
Gelette was a great asset. 

No doubt because we were almost of an age, and 
she had no youthful company, Frean excepted. Miss 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 


105 


Gelette got into the way of talking to me intimately. 
Then, one day, she began putting questions about 
myself: What I had done before working for 

Mr. Fremstad, and how I had acquired an education 
which she pronounced above the ordinary. 

“One would think you had been to college,” she 
said. 

“You flatter me, ma’am.” 

“Quite unintentionally then, I assure you. Come, 
were you never at college?” 

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” 

“There, I knew it! Which?” 

“U. of P., ma’am; Brown, Swarthmore, Yale.” 

“What! You’re fibbing, Peter; you know you 
are. You simply couldn’t have gone to all those.” 

“Why not, ma’am? They aren’t far apart and 
it only took a few days. My old boss—not Mr. 
Fremstad—made a tour of them and I drove the 
car. They are very nice places, ma’am.” 

“I don’t care for your sense of humor,” she 
said, a spot of color in her cheek. “I think Fve 
remarked that before. You aren’t bad, Peter, when 
you don’t try to be funny. In any case, I think 
you have an education that entitles you to some¬ 
thing better than driving somebody else’s car, but 
no doubt I’m mistaken.” 

“No doubt, ma’am.” 

“No, I’m not mistaken! Don’t contradict me, 


io6 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


Peter. I won’t allow it. I say you have an excel¬ 
lent education; anybody could see that; it crops 
out all the time. It isn’t lack of education in your 
case; it—it’s downright laziness, mental laziness and 
lack of ambition; it must be that. Why you should 
be content—but it’s the complaint of many young 
men nowadays. To work with your hands instead 
of your head; to accept an easy well-paid—but you 
haven’t told me what you were before becoming 
a chauffeur.” 

“No, ma’am, I haven’t.” 

She waited a moment, then demanded: “Well?” 

“Well what, ma’am?” 

“I say what were you? Goodness gracious, can’t 
you understand a simple question? What did you 
do? Where did you work?” 

“Oh, various places, ma’am, and at various 
things.” 

“And at various times under various people, I 
presume. How intelligible!” she excaimed, the red 
deepening in her cheek. “Oh, very well. But 
surely if I condescend to ask a few questions you 
may condescend to answer them.” 

“I am sensible, ma’am, of the great favor done 
me by your interest.” 

“My interest?” She laughed quite unpleasantly. 
I had never thought her capable of such a laugh. 
“You are quite mistaken, Peter. I have absolutely 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 


107 


no interest in you, your past, present, or future.” 
For some reason she was very angry. “Is that 
quite plain ?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“You are becoming spoiled,” she continued. “You 
think you are indispensable because you’ve been 
promoted from the garage to the study, thanks solely 
to my uncle’s mania for chess. Oh, yes, you do. 
I’ve seen it coming on, but I wish to point out 
that you mustn’t forget you belong properly to 
the garage, not the study.” 

“I’ll bear it in mind, ma’am.” 

Her foot began tapping. “And if you belong 
there, it’s entirely your own fault; you have elected 
—however, what I wish to point out and impress 
on you is that if any one is remotely interested 
in you at all, it is my uncle. You have managed 
to amuse him, and he has been good enough to 
say you should be fit for something better than 
a servant—that is, if you had a spark of ambition. 
Not, of course, that I agree with him. But that 
is his opinion. So acquit me of any personal inter¬ 
est or vulgar curiosity in your private affairs. Of 
course they are less than nothing to me. I merely 
wished to find out for Mr. Varney, if possible, 
why you are not occupying a position to which 
he evidently thinks your abilities entitle you. That 
is all.” 


io8 THE BLACK COMPANY 

“It is very good of Mr. Varney,” I murmured, 
my eyes still on the wind shield. 

“It is,” she agreed. “Very.” 

She returned to the attack when I thought the 
battle was over. “If you persistently refuse to 
say anything about your past, one can’t help think¬ 
ing there must be something to conceal, of course. 
You successfully deceived your former employer 
regarding one very important fact, and you may 
have done so in other instances.” 

This wasn’t the lovable, self-sacrificing, and wholly 
charming girl I had known of late, but the spite¬ 
ful, hot-tempered little minx who had kicked the 
burst tire that day and bossed me around like a 
pair of old boots. 

“I think,” she added, “it would be a wise pre¬ 
caution to look up every item of those admirable 
credentials of yours. I might find something more 
than a predilection for alcohol.” 

“You might, madam,” I said, turning and meet¬ 
ing her eyes for the first time. “I dare say there 
are many things in my character that aren’t ad¬ 
mirable, but one thing you won’t find—the will 
to hurt another in an inferior position who can’t 
hit back.” 

Now, that wasn’t a lovely speech any more 
than hers, whatever truth there was in either, but 
it had been goaded out of me against my will. 
Looking back on it now, I believe we were both 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 


109 


suffering from “nerves” that day, she from the 
long strain of her uncle’s illness and cranky humors; 
I from the total stoppage of John Barleycorn. Also, 
I was bothered about Frean. She was running with 
him a good bit, and seemed to fancy him, while, 
though I knew he wasn’t fit to tie her shoes, I 
had to stand by and say nothing. Again, she 
had got into the habit lately of riding me with 
spurs when so minded, flaring up like this for 
no reason at all. 

“How dare you!” she gasped. “How dare you 
use such words to me! What do you mean by 
it? You’ve got entirely above your position, and 

I see I was greatly mistaken in your character-” 

“I’m very sorry, ma’am; I spoke quickly and 
without thought. I’m sure I ask your pardon and 
beg to withdraw the words.” 

“A slip of the tongue is no fault of the mind. 
Such words aren’t so easily withdrawn, or forgiven, 
either, and only for my uncle, I would discharge 
you here and now! You deserve to be, if ever an 
insolent servant did! This comes of being kind 
to people, treating them with consideration, putting 
them above their position. Some natures are in¬ 
capable of gratitude or—or anything!” 

“I’m sure, ma’am, I’ve always appreciated, far 

more than I can say, your interest-” 

“If you say that again I’ll give you two weeks’ 
wages and discharge you now, uncle or no uncle! 




no 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


And, mind you, it will be without a character. 
I say I have no interest in you whatsoever!” 

“Quite so, ma’am. What I meant, and was 
about to say, was your interest in the cause of 
total abstinence, thanks to which you gave me 
another chance.” 

“You weren’t going to say anything of the kind! 
That’s just more of your horrible deceit. I’m 
sorry I did give you another chance. I should have 
told Mr. Varney of your condition that night. It 
would have saved me this extremely lowering scene, 
a vulgar matter which I won’t condescend to discuss 
further.” 

But she did, after an interval of frigid silence. 
Evidently the more she thought over it, the angrier 
she got. “Servants have, indeed, progressed, as 
my uncle remarked,” she exclaimed. “Now they 
even presume to instruct their employers in deport¬ 
ment and ethics. But, then, they are such perfect 
and admirable characters themselves and we should 
be highly flattered that they deign to accept our 
wages at all. 

“And so I am a brutal and tyrannical mistress, 
bullying my servants around because they can’t 
answer back? Truly, that isn’t the case with you, 
though no doubt your tongue would be more 
cautiously polite if I were a man and not a woman. 
Perhaps I even kick and beat my servants? That 
is a nice tale to go round the neighborhood! And 


THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 


in 


yet, with all my fiendish cruelty, the same people 
have served me for the past fifteen years. How 
do you account for that?” 

'‘Surely, ma’am, you’ve punished me enough for 
a hasty and unfortunate remark.” 

Somehow I could say nothing right and this 
in itself was another unfortunate remark. "Don’t 
add to your impertinence,” she said. 

But I did, and in the most heinous fashion; 
for it was at this moment that I kissed her. It 
is really remarkable how such things happen; one 
moment you are a fairly respectable citizen, in 

spite of your many faults, the next an unspeakable 
criminal, an enemy to society and young woman¬ 
hood; in short, the abysmal brute. It is a species 
of madness, I suppose, for which there is no ac¬ 
counting, but I had been sorely tempted for many 
a day. She had ordered me to stop the car, the 
better to air her opinion of me. The road was 
deserted. I was really annoyed with her. Her 

scolding but provocative lips were very near my 
own, and—well, that’s how it happened. 

She struggled like a true heroine, and so I 

kissed her again. This time I took more care 

and deliberation. 

"There,” I said, "I may as well be hanged for 
a sheep as a lamb.” 

She made no reply, but sat bolt upright, frigid, 
immovable, as though her spine were an icicle. 


112 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


She had gone from red to white like a semaphore, 
put the back of a hand to her ravaged lips and 
looked at me over it. I couldn’t meet her eyes 
and found something intensely interesting on the 
dashboard to examine. The silence lengthened. 

“Anyway,” I said over a shoulder, “if I’m to 
be fired—well, it was worth it.” 

She said nothing, gave no sign that she had 
even heard. I felt those eyes boring into my back 
like red-hot needles. I began to perspire freely, 
to fidget, to look, no doubt, the miserable ass I 
felt. To ruin everything by a moment’s folly! 
Our good understanding, the superlative opportunity 
of penetrating the mystery of the Black Company, 
Mr. Varney’s high opinion of me, this quiet 
home- 

When the silence had become unendurable she 
said very calmly and as though addressing a blot 
on the l&ndscape, “And now, if you are quite 
ready, I should like to return home.” 

I gave the starter a vicious jab and, making 
too sharp a turn, almost succeeded in emptying us 
in a wayside ditch. But even this failed to arouse 
her from her frigid immobility; she never even 
blinked. 

We indulged in a mile of ponderous silence; 
then I slowed down. “I’m awfully sorry,” I began 
above the drone of the engine. “I don’t know how 
it happened. I was mad, clean crazy.” 



THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS 


ii3 

She continued to say nothing. 

“Of course it was inexcusable,” I blundered on. 
“It was an accident; I didn’t mean it. I was a 
fool, a cad. I—I hope you’ll try to overlook it, 
ma’am; I wouldn’t like to lose this job. But, of 
course, I’ve made it impossible-” 

I gave it up; I might as well have been address¬ 
ing the wind shield. One cannot be eloquent or 
impressive with such an audience. 

The rest of the homeward journey was finished 
in record time and silence, and Miss Gelette entered 
the house without giving me so much as a glance. 

Shortly afterward, when I was in the garage, 
I was informed by Horace that Mr. Varney wished 
to see me; and there was that in the old butler’s 
face and manner that told me I was “in for it.” 
Of course Miss Gelette, ignoring the cardinal rule 
of the house—that nothing must worry or disturb 
Mr. Varney—had told him of my conduct, and of 
course, I should be summarily dismissed. Well, 
I had brought it all on myself and there was no 
use trying to dodge the inevitable. 

Miss Gelette was in the study with her uncle, 
and there was a visitor present, a man I had never 
seen before. He was a large, middle-aged in¬ 
dividual, quiet, respectable, sober, and might have 
been anything from a detective to a floorwalker. 

Varney, seated in his big armchair and leaning 
on the gold-knobbed Malacca cane, the inevitable 



THE BLACK COMPANY 


114 

chess problem at his elbow, was evidently in one 
of his fine tempers. 

“What’s the meaning of this, Peter Henry?” 
he demanded as I entered. “Here’s a fellow who 
claims to be Joyce, and who says you’ve stolen 
his name and job, after assaulting and almost mur¬ 
dering him. What’s the meaning of it, hey?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 

I WOULD have liked very much to know the mean- 
* ing of it myself, for, of all things, this was 
naturally the last I had expected. How could the 
grave give up its dead? How could this fellow be 
Joyce, when I knew Joyce to have been ground 
to pieces by a locomotive three weeks ago? And 
assuredly he wasn’t the man who had eloped with 
my car. 

There remained, then, the obvious answer that 
he, too, was an impostor. Either such an organiza¬ 
tion as the Black Company really existed, and, for 
all my fancied cleverness, they had discovered the 
deception and sent another member to take my 
place, or this fellow had discovered it somehow 
on his own hook, and meant to profit by it himself. 

I would have liked very much also if Brenda 
Gelette had been somewhere else at the moment, 
for the uncompromising stare of her eyes, which 
I felt rather than saw, was singularly disconcerting. 
Certainly her inning had come, and, in her present 
mood, I knew she would make the most of it. 
For one who had presumed to moralize, I was 
in rather an unenviable position. 


n6 THE BLACK COMPANY 

“If this man says I assaulted and robbed him,” 
I replied to Varney, “he’s saying what isn’t so. 
I never saw him in my life before.” 

I could see that Varney was more than willing 
to believe me—and the knowledge hurt. “What 
have you to say to that?” he demanded triumphantly 
of the other. “Come, repeat your story, word for 
word. And mind, if I catch you lying, my man, 
it will be a very serious business for you. I’ll 
have you jailed for fraud and false pretenses as 
sure as I sit here! So think twice before you 

speak.” 

“I’ve nothing to fear, sir,” said the other respect¬ 
fully, but with the manner of one strong in the 
truth. “I repeat, sir, that I’m Henry Joyce, Mr. 

Fremstad’s old chauffeur, and I can prove every¬ 
thing I say. On the night of June sixteenth, a 

couple of days before 1 was to report here, I 
was sandbagged and robbed in Philadelphia. I 
was out of my head for over a week in the 

hospital. My papers and clothes were gone, and, 
when I got out yesterday, I had to get a new 

outfit. Then I came on here, never thinking to 

find some one working under my name. If you 
call up Mr. Fremstad, sir, on the long distance, 

he’ll tell you I’ve been in the hospital for the 
last three weeks, for I saw him yesterday. He’ll 
tell you this fellow ain’t me. Just ask him, sir, 

what Henry Joyce looks like —” 



CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


ii 7 


“Pardon me, but there’s really no need,” I put 
in. “I admit that my name isn’t Joyce, and that 
I’m an impostor.” 

A little gasp came from the window where Brenda 
was standing, while Varney looked as if about to 
choke. At that moment I realized in what affec¬ 
tion I held the old fellow, in spite of his temper 
and humors. 

Our nightly battles over the chessboard had drawn 
us closer together than I had ever suspected. For 
all his bitter tongue and manner, I saw he had 
formed a regard for me far beyond my deserts; 
I caught a look of pain and distress in his sunken 
eyes, the sort that can only be caused by an es¬ 
teemed one found unworthy. 

In a moment it was gone, and he rasped out: 
“So you’re an impostor, hey? You’re not Joyce? 
Then who the devil are you?” 

“Why, a nobody, sir,” I replied, seeing nothing 
to be gained by giving my real name, considering 
his poor opinion of my family. I decided, too, it 
would be wisest if Joyce knew as little about me 
as possible. I realized now the advantages of wealth, 
for I meant to spare no expense in investigating 
the Black Company. Better let Joyce and Corby 
think me a poor adventurer rather than one who 
could hire an army of detectives, if need be, and 
use all the influence that great wealth commands. 

“You mean to say, then, that you’re a criminal?” 


n8 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


pursued Varney. “That you robbed and assaulted 
this man-” 

“No, sir. I was in New York on June sixteenth, 
and I can prove it. I repeat I never saw this man 
before, and I dare him to swear to my identity in 
a police court.” 

“No, I wouldn’t take my oath on it,” said Joyce, 
who, perhaps, had no wish to bring the police into 
the matter. “It was dark, and I didn’t have a 
good look at the fellow who slugged me. But the 
point is, you’ve got my papers, you took my name 
and job; so it looks a bit as if you was the 
fellow, don’t it?” 

“I should say it does!” exclaimed Varney, eying 
me grimly. “Come, you had better be more ex¬ 
plicit. What is your name, and how did you get 
into this mess, if you claim to be innocent?” 

I told him I preferred not to mention my real 
name. “Call me Peter Smith, sir,” I said, “for 

I don’t want my folks to hear of this trouble. 

I was simply down on my luck and anxious to 

find a job. I came from New York on June seven¬ 
teenth, and I was assaulted and robbed just as 
Mr. Joyce says he was. My clothes were taken, 
too, and in the ones left me I found that letter 
from Mr. Fremstad.” 

Old Varney listened to my story with open 

skepticism, at no pains to hide his disbelief, while 
Joyce smiled behind a large hand. I could hardly 



CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


119 

blame any one for not crediting it, but I received 
help from the most unexpected quarter, Brenda 
Gelette saying quietly: “Peter told me about his 
assault and robbery the day he came here.” 

Noble soul! How forgiving, how generous is 
woman! It was evident that she had not told 
Mr. Varney of my recent unpardonable conduct. 
Perhaps there had been no opportunity; or perhaps, 
knowing how necessary I was to him, she had 
decided to sacrifice her own feelings and say noth¬ 
ing. At all events, here she was coming to my 
rescue, heaping coals of fire on my most unworthy 
head. 

“He said, uncle,” she continued, “that he spent 
the night with a farmer called Taylor, near Sea 
Bright station, and I know this to be a fact.” 

So her curiosity as to my past had not been 
confined merely to questioning me. It was fortunate 
I had told the truth about Taylor, one of those 
happy accidents that happen to me infrequently. 

“It was Taylor’s finding that letter from Mr. 
Fremstad and calling me Joyce that put the idea 
into my head,” I hastened to explain. “I knew 
a lot about automobiles, and when I happened on 
Miss Gelette, stuck with that blow-out-” 

“Yes, that is quite true,” she interrupted again. 
“It was I, uncle, who said he was Joyce; he never 

claimed to be. You see that letter-” And she 

explained how it had fallen out of my pocket. 




120 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Thank you, kindly, ma’am,” I said as she fin¬ 
ished. “There was no excuse for my deceiving 
you and Mr. Varney, ma'am, but—but I wanted 
the job very much-” 

“Were you out of work?” asked Mr. Varney. 

“Yes, sir; for six months,” I answered quite 
truthfully. 

“How did you lose your last place?” he demanded. 

“Through no fault of my own, sir,” I replied, 
pleased at being still able to speak the truth. “I’ve 
been out of a job for all of six months and when 
I saw this chance—well, things sort of played into 
my hands, sir. I didn’t deliberately plan it. I’m 
unfortunate, but I’m not a crook, and if Mr. Joyce 
still thinks I had a hand in his robbery, he has 
only to make a charge to the police, and I’ll prove 
I was in New York that night.” 

“No, I wouldn’t swear to nothing I wasn’t dead 
sure of,” said Joyce virtuously, his little, counter¬ 
sunk eyes still very busy with me. “An oath on 
the Book is a very serious thing. Besides, I know 
what hunting a job means, being hard up and 
desp’rate, and so, as far as I’m concerned, this 
won’t be a police case. I’ve got my health back, 
and my job, and that’s all I’m looking for.” 

“That’s very decent of you, my man,” said Var¬ 
ney, “and I promise you won’t lose by it. Peter 
Smith, or whatever your name is,” fixing his eyes 
grimly on me, “I suppose I would be doing my 



CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


121 


duty to society by jailing you for obtaining money 
under false pretenses. However, I have to bear in 
mind that you earned the money, that you served 
me honestly and efficiently, even though you secured 
the position by fraud. It seems a rather remark¬ 
able coincidence that both Joyce and you should 
have been assaulted and robbed by the same person, 
yet I believe your story. It shows you aren’t used 
to the ways of deception, else you would have 
known very well that Joyce was bound to turn 
up and expose you. I choose to believe that mis¬ 
fortune and your necessity made you reckless of 
consequences. You’ve had your lesson, and I know 
you will profit by it. I will see what can be done 
in the way of getting you a situation, perhaps 
more suitable to your abilities—I may say I’ve 
had the matter under consideration for some time— 
and meanwhile you may remain here. I warrant 
you will find plenty to do.” 

I was in the middle of a speech of gratitude 
when there came a knock at the door, and the 
butler announced: “Mr. Frean, sir.” And Frean 
followed the words in person. 

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “Didn’t know you’d com¬ 
pany-” And then his eyes fell on me. 

It was the first time he had seen me at close 
quarters without my smoked glasses, and now I 
was standing in the full glare of the windows. 



122 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


'‘Good Lord!” he breathed, starting back as if he 
had seen a spook. “It can’t be—it is Pete Lawton!” 

“Eh, what’s that?” cried Varney, bouncing in 
his chair, while a stifled exclamation came from 
Brenda Gelette. “What’s wrong with you, man!” 

“It’s—it’s he!” cried Frean, pointing a trembling 
finger at me. “It’s Pete Lawton without his mus¬ 
tache—the fellow who was supposed to have been 
killed by a train three weeks ago!” 

They were all leaning forward, staring at me, 
and I noted a peculiar gleam of interest in the 
deep-set eyes of Joyce. My plan of keeping him 
ignorant of my identity was thus ruined just when 
it promised the greatest success, for I saw that 
further dodging was useless. Frean knew me, and 
if I attempted to deny my identity, he would set 
about proving it. He bore me no love, and would 
do it for spite, if nothing else. 

I had expected that the mention of my true 
identity would produce some unfavorable emotion 
in Varney, but I had no idea of its depth and 
extent. His face had slowly assumed an awful 
reddish-black hue, and the veins on his forehead 
stood out like seams of blood until I thought he 
was going to have a stroke. Then he paled to 
the sickly color of old gold, and he sat trembling 
as if with the ague, his congested eyes positively 
glaring at me. 


CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


123 


“So you’re Peter Lawton, hey?” he croaked at 
length. “You weren’t killed, after all?” 

“Pm afraid I must admit the truth of that,” I 
replied. “The story I told you was substantially 
true. The man who assaulted me stole my car, 
and was killed in my place.” 

Miss Gelette spoke for the third time, but now 
there was scarcely concealed anger, contempt, and 
animosity in her voice. “Uncle, Mr. Lawton was 
the person we nearly ran over that night, and 
whom you advised to enter the alcoholic ward of 
the nearest hospital.” 

Now I ask you, in all seriousness, is there any 
comprehending women? You remember the old 
darky preacher and how he kept insisting in his 
sermon that there was precious little difference 
between man and woman, until an aged Don Juan 
in the congregation was goaded into arising and 
declaiming “Well, brudder, let us thank de Lawd 
for dat little diff’rence!” But I must say I agreed 
with the preacher; I mean it has always seemed 
to me that a great deal of bunk has been written 
about the mystery of woman, her mental processes 
and psychology, and that in reality they are little, 
if at all, different from those of a man. Under¬ 
stand man and you understand woman. And yet 
I could conceive no man acting as did Miss Gelette, 
executing such an outrageous right-about-face. One 
moment she was my friend, the next my bitter 


124 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


enemy; one moment helping me nobly, the next 
seeking to complete my downfall. She had con¬ 
doned, if not forgiven, my conduct toward her, 
and now simply because it transpired that I wasn’t 
a professional chauffeur-No, I couldn’t under¬ 

stand it; it was most mysterious, astounding, and 
sad. She looked at me as though I were some 
pariah. 

“Eh?” said old Varney, in answer to her last 
pleasant remark. “You mean he was that besotted 
fool, and you’ve known it all along?” 

“Yes,” she said, “I have. I agreed to say nothing 
to you because I never imagined it to be his usual 
condition. He gave me to understand it was in 
the nature of an accident. I wanted to give him 
another chance; I thought him worthy of it, and, 
of course, I had no idea he wasn’t Joyce, no idea 
of his real identity. I didn’t know he was telling 
untruths; I didn’t think anybody could lie so 
plausibly. I see now how foolish I was, how 
utterly mistaken I was in—in his real character.” 

Varney turned to me, his yellow face working. 
He spoke with the utmost difficulty, a sort of 
venomous croak. “A fine little joke, eh, Mr. Law- 
ton?” rubbing his claws. “As I believe you possess 
an odd million dollars or so, I suppose I owe your 
inestimable services to a drunken debauch and your 
refined sense of humor? As a spy in my house¬ 
hold, you’ve been having a little fun with me, 



CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


125 


hey? Quite in the exquisite and refined spirit of 
your famous family! You come to spy out and 
gloat over my infirmities, insinuate yourself into 
my confidence-” 

“Nothing of the kind, sir!” I broke in, finding 
speech at last. “I never knew you were even 
acquainted with my family. I never heard your 
name mentioned, never knew you existed. I knew 
nothing about you-” 

“Liar!” he shouted. “You’re incapable of speak¬ 
ing the truth! Like father, like son. You’ve done 
nothing but tell lies since you came here. Get 
out of my house and never let me set eyes on 
you again! Go!” 

“Mr. Varney,” I said, “you must listen to me. 
If you will only have patience and hear me out-” 

“If I only had strength I’d throw you out!” he 
cried, brandishing his cane. “Arnold, show this 
fellow out!” 

Frean came forward obediently, but with no great 
heart, for he evidently remembered the fracas in 
my rooms following the dummy-bridge incident. 
“You’d better go, Lawton,” he said, making no 
effort to hide his smug satisfaction. “You don’t 
want the police in, do you?” 

I wasn’t caring either for him or the police, but 
I saw it was utterly impossible for me to say 
anything further to Varney. He had worked him¬ 
self into such a frenzy that I feared he would 





126 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


do himself harm. The longer I stayed the worse 
it got, the mere sight of me being apparently 
enough, and so, without another word, I left the 
room and house. 

When I was in the garage, exchanging Jules’ bor¬ 
rowed plumage for the cheap serge suit left me 
by my unknown assailant, Joyce sauntered in with 
an air of one taking possession. 

“Well, sir,” he said respectfully enough, “you’ve 
had your joke, but blamed if I can see where it 
comes in. Catch me working for three weeks as 
a chauffeur if I had all your dough! May I ask 
why you done it, sir? You couldn’t have been 
drunk all the time—meaning no offense, I’m sure.” 

“I could have been drunk all the time, only I 
wasn’t,” I said. “The whole matter is very simple. 
It was the result of a silly wager, and, if you know 
anything about me at all, you’ll know that silly 
wagers are my strong point. I bet a fellow I 
could earn my keep, and that letter of yours from 
Mr. Hampsted showed me the way to get a job.” 

He did not correct my conscious and deliberate 
mistake about the name Fremstad. “Well, sir, a 
bet’s a bet, and I’ve known funnier ones than that. 
It’s queer how you and me come to be robbed by 
the same fellow, me in Philly one night, and you 
in Sea Bright the night after, for the same fellow 
must have pulled it off. Else, how would you have 
found that letter? And, of course, I see now you 


CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


127 


couldn’t have done it, for millionaires don’t go 
round robbing poor chauffeurs. Well, you’ve won 
your bet, sir, and I’m sure you’re glad it’s over. 
You must have found it pretty slow here, with 
the season only half started.” 

“Yes, slow enough. But, by the way, I had one 
funny experience. There’s a fellow here by the 
name of Corby—he’s Mr. Frean’s chauffeur—and 
as you may meet him, Joyce, I may as well warn 
you that he’s a bit cracked. Yes, a harmless sort 
of bug. There’s a game called chess—ever play 
it? No, I don’t suppose you do. Well, this fellow 
Corby must have gone kind of nutty over it, for 
he calls himself the King’s Bishop’s pawn. It’s a 
fact. And once he called me the King’s pawn. I 
met him a couple of times, and he drinks butter¬ 
milk to the health of the Black Company.” 

The man joined very heartily in my laugh. 
“Buttermilk! That’s hardly in your line, sir, is it? 
And what’s the Black Company?” 

“Search me. Some crazy idea of his own. Maybe 
he means the black chessmen. I humored him, 
pretending to know all about it, just to see what 
else he’d say. Funny bug, but then they say we’re 
all a bit cracked on some subject.. Well, I’ve warned 
you, so don’t be surprised if he starts calling you 
the King’s pawn and talks a lot of piffle. I guess 
you won’t find it so slow with him here to josh.” 

“Maybe not, sir; though joshing lunatics ain’t 


128 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


quite in my line. I’d rather have something 
healthier. If this fellow what’s-his-name was to 
find out you’d been pulling his leg—well, he might 
take it to heart, and there’s no telling how such 
bugs’ll act. He hadn’t ought to be let tool a car 
if he’s as crazy as all that.” 

“Very likely he isn’t crazy,” I said. “Perhaps 
he was only joshing me, pulling my leg. Anyway, 
I’ve given you the tip for what it may be worth. 
Crazy or not, he’s a funny character.” 

“I should say so, sir. It’s a bum idea, sir, how¬ 
ever you take it—calling himself a chessman be¬ 
longing to the Black Company. Maybe it’s a thriller 
he seen at the movies. Anyway, sir, I’m sure you’re 
glad to be quit of it all and to get back home. 
There’s no place like home, sir, and you’ll be having 
a warm welcome.” 

There was a look in his eyes I couldn’t quite 
fathom and which he made no attempt to hide. 

“That was some joy ride you had down here, 
sir,” he added. “It must have been. And to think 
of you taking my name and job all on account of 
a bet! Well, well, we do make fool wagers, 
don’t we? It’ll be a great surprise to everybody, 
sir, when they hear it was the other fellow who 
was killed instead of you. And what a welcome 
home you’ll get! I envy you, sir; I do indeed.” 

I said farewell to Joyce and left the garage 
with the feeling that he was the owner of some 


CONSPIRING CIRCUMSTANCES 


129 


unpleasant joke which he believed I shared. It 
had nothing to do with the Black Company, his sus¬ 
picions of me—if he had any—or mine of him. 
No, it was something altogether apart from that. 
What was it? I hadn't the least idea, but that it 
existed I felt certain. Could it be that, in spite 
of Frean’s identification and my acknowledgment, 
Joyce did not believe I was Peter Lawton? That 
seemed hardly reasonable, yet I had no other ex¬ 
planation to offer. It was a puzzle. 


CHAPTER IX 


I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER 

¥ HAD no intention of leaving without having, by 
* some means or other, a word with Brenda 
Gelette. No doubt she would refuse to see me, but, 
whether she wanted to or not, I would see her. 
I could not leave without attempting to correct 
the belief that I had known Mr. Varney’s identity 
from the start. Why should I plan to enter his 
house as a spy, why gloat over his infirmities ? 
Why did he hate me and mine so ferociously ? 
Perhaps Brenda Gelette would condescend to answer 
these questions. 

After all, what had I done to be treated with 
such anger and contempt? At worst I was guilty 
of a poor sort of joke. No doubt, too, they be¬ 
lieved the popular press opinion of me. Well, 
I couldn’t correct that, and perhaps it wasn’t such 
an erroneous opinion after all. “To see ourselves 
as others see us!” I had sown a fine crop of 
wild oats in a remarkably short time and I must 
abide by the harvest. Nor dare I tell her any¬ 
thing about the Black Company, the extra induce¬ 
ment which had made me continue to play the 
part of Joyce. But I could apologize for what 


I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER 


131 

I had done, perhaps make her see that it wasn't 
quite the ill-mannered piece of levity it seemed. 
If I could convince her that my career as a 
prodigal was a matter of six months only, that 
I had turned over a new leaf and meant to keep 
the pages clean, that it was a life-and-death struggle 
with the Demon and that she had helped me pro¬ 
foundly, my regeneration dating from the day I 
had first met her—yes, if I could convince her 
of all that- 

I went up on the veranda to ring the bell and 
ran into Frean who had just come out of the 
house. “The very man I wanted to see," I said, 
and beckoned him to a quiet corner. 

He came unwillingly, watching me warily. “You 
needn’t blame me for any of this," he said de¬ 
fensively. “I’d no idea you were still living or 
that you weren’t Joyce. Of all your fool escapades, 
Lawton, this is about your worst. You’ve got 
yourself into a nice mess, but it’s entirely your 
own fault." 

“Have I said it wasn’t?" 

“Well, if you take my advice you’ll beat it while 
the going’s good instead of hanging round here. 
Mr. Varney may change his mind and have you 
jailed for false pretenses. He can do it, you know." 

“I suppose he can. But never mind about that; 
I’ll run the risk. I want you to tell Miss Gelette 



132 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


that I wish to see her; a servant wouldn’t take the 
message, but you can.” 

“She won’t see you, Lawton.” 

“She will if you ask her. I must see her before 
I go. You can get her to come down here. Go 
ahead.” 

“I’ll do nothing of the kind. Why should she 
see you? I tell you it’s no use; she knows all 
about it.” 

“All about what?” 

“Oh, you know what I mean. What’s the use? 
There’s nothing for it, Lawton, but to go back 
and face the music, the sooner the better. You’ve 
only made it worse by this delay.” 

“What music? What the Harry are you talking 
about?” 

He laughed unpleasantly. “This possum game’s 
played out, Lawton. I assure you it is. You knew 
very well what I mean—that double charge of 
manslaughter. Manslaughter? It’s really murder!” 

“Look here, my boy,” I said, “this isn’t my day 
for laughing at jokes. What are you getting at? 
Give us the works.” 

“Oh, cut it, Lawton,” he sneered. “You can’t 
play the innocent on me, you know. Why, every- 
body knows it! Varney and Miss Gelette know 
now the real reason why you were anxious to 
change your name, why you’ve been in hiding these 
weeks. You thought it better to play dead till it 


I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER 


133 


blew over, eh? A pretty cute idea, but your little 
game’s gone up prematurely in smoke. You’ve got 
to answer for those two killings, and all your money 
won’t save you this time.” 

I shot out a hand and got him by the collar. 
“Now spring the rest of this joke, Frean. Open 
up, or I’ll open you!” 

“None of your beastly violence, Lawton!” 

“You’ll find it pretty beastly, my boy, if you 
don’t come clean. I’ll darned well spoil your pretty 
looks. Come, now!” 

“All right,” he choked with a white sneer. “If 
you prefer to play the innocent—though don’t think 
you’re fooling anybody—I’m referring to what was 
in the newspapers and what everybody knows. 
You’re like an ostrich with its head in the sand. 
Everybody knows you ran over a woman and a 
child the night you were supposed to be killed. 
You murdered them, never gave them a chance, 
though they call it manslaughter. But, of course, 
you didn’t know about it.” 

I am sure he was amply repaid by the effect of 
this horrible news on me; I must have shown 
something of what I felt. Suddenly I understood 
Joyce’s queer manner and his remark about my 
receiving a warm welcome home. I felt physically 
ill, stunned, aghast. That mad ride and the fears 
it had conjured up at the time had faded into the 
limbo of forgotten things. It is so easy to forget 


*34 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


our lucky escapes, our just punishments! And, 
poor fool, all the time I had been congratulating 
myself on having escaped; I had believed that a 
special Providence watches over the drunk. A 
woman and a child killed—yes, murdered! 

“I give you my word, Frean, I knew nothing 
about it,” I managed to say at length. “You must 
be trying to kid me. You are, aren’t you? I saw 
the account in the papers of that crazy ride of 
mine, but nothing was said-” 

“It was in the next morning’s paper. You 
couldn’t have failed to see it.” 

“I didn’t see the next morning’s paper.” 

He shrugged and smiled as he arranged his 
disordered collar. “No? Well, there are some 
things we don’t care to see. I’m sure I believe you, 
Lawton, but there are millions who wouldn’t.” 

“You needn’t jeer; I’m telling you the truth. 
Anyway, how do they know I’m responsible? What 
if they did identify the car and license? Wasn’t 
the car stolen from me?” 

“So you say.” 

“D-do you mean—why, hang it! There’s the 
fellow they found in it! You can’t get away from 
that.” 

“I’m not trying to. Of course, if it wasn’t you, 
somebody else must have been driving.” 

“Well, then, if this other fellow was driving-” 

“There’s no use trying to fool yourself, Lawton, 




I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER 


135 


and certainly you’re not fooling me. The woman 
and child were killed in Red Bank, on the route 
you took from Princeton to Sea Bright, while the 
man you induced to take your car was killed at 
Camden. He had no reason to be near Red Bank.” 

“Induced to take my car! What do you mean, 
Frean?” 

“Paid, then, if that’s the word. None of your 
beastly violence, Lawton!” 

“Are you insinuating that I knew about killing 
this poor woman and child, and that I paid some 
fellow to impersonate me while I lay hid under 
an assumed name, afraid to face the consequences? 
Is that what you mean, eh?” 

He backed away. “None of your violence now, 
Lawton. You asked me to tell you and I have. 
If any other construction can be placed on your 
incomprehensible actions during the past weeks, I’m 
sure your friends will be only too glad to hear of 
it. You asked for an honest opinion, and I’ve 
given it. It’s the opinion of Mr. Varney, Miss 
Gelette, everybody—as you’ll soon find out.” 

“There’s more than that I want to find out,” 
I said, choking down my anger. “Let us put aside 
my affairs, bad as they are, and come to your 
own. What’s your game down here, Frean?” 

I had no intention of mentioning the Black 
Company, aware he would only deny all knowledge 
of it, and then inform Corby of my lively interest. 


136 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


All my talk with Joyce had been toward the idea 
that I regarded the whole thing as a joke, and I 
had no intention of now exposing my hand. Of 
course, Frean had no idea I knew anything about 
the mysterious secret society, yet my question 
brought a startled look to his eyes, gone in a 
moment. 

“My game! What do you mean? Fve known 
this family for years—not as a servant, but as a 
friend-” 

“Don't bother to sneer at me. I want to know 
why, as a friend, you lied so outrageously to Mr. 
Varney. Your pretenses here are as false as my 
own, if it comes to that. Perhaps you don’t know 
I heard the real reason why you had to leave your 
father’s house and business?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, though he 
plainly was. “I’m sure you’d go snooping into 
my private affairs just to see what trouble you 
could make. You blame me because you’re a hope¬ 
less drunkard.” 

“You’re quite wrong. I’m not a drunkard, hope¬ 
less or otherwise; and though I’ve a pretty good 
idea why you induced me to take that first drink, 
I haven’t any grudge against you. Not a bit, Frean. 
Your private affairs are nothing to me except this— 
that I’ve a natural objection to seeing you hanging 
round any decent girl. Is that plain enough? We 
needn’t mention any names, but what I’m getting 



I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER 


137 


at is this: If you’re going to do any courting, 

it’s got to be on the level; otherwise I’ll make it 
my business to see that the girl knows just how 
you stand with decent society.” 

“Decent society!” he laughed, though his eyes 
were venomous. “That’s a good phrase, coming 
from you. Perhaps, Apostle Peter, you’ll go in 

and tell Mr. Varney and Miss Gelette all the dread¬ 
ful things you know about me? Of course, they’ll 

be quite ready to believe you, for you’ve set up 
such a remarkable reputation for telling the truth. 
Oh, yes, they’ll take your mere word for it; they’ll 
know it’s pure altruism on your part. I assure you 
it will pay you better to make it your business to 
attend to your own and not mine. You’ll have to 
work off your spite against me in some other way.” 

“I tell you again, Frean, that Pve no spite against 
you; not an atom. I don’t care a hang how you’ve 
acted, or may act, toward me. I’m well able to 
look after myself, but I intend to see that you act 
decently where Miss Gelette is concerned.” 

“You’re a nice censor of morals, Lawton, I must 
say. Even if you got a hearing—which you won’t 
—I could easily disprove whatever garbled version 
you may have heard about my difference with my 
father. Anyway, you’re a bit late on the wire, for 
that difference was made up before I came down 
here.” 

“So you say.” 


138 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“It’s the truth, though it’s nothing to me whether 
you believe it or not, and Mr. Varney knows all 
about it. Finally, if Miss Gelette wants any out¬ 
sider to manage her affairs, she’ll hardly select a 
person of your stamp. No, you can’t harm me, 
Lawton, and the best thing you can do is to mind 
your own sorry business and give yourself up to 
the law before they send detectives after you.” And, 
as if to show his contempt of my warning by leav¬ 
ing me in undisputed possession of the field, he 
jumped into his car and drove off. 

I now realized the utter hopelessness of trying 
to see Brenda Gelette or saying anything further 
in my own defense. Added to all my other sins, 
Mr. Varney and she now believed I had been hiding 
like a coward all this time, with those two deaths 
upon my conscience. Indeed, circumstances had so 
conspired against me that I really couldn’t blame 
anybody for thinking so, nor could all my excuses 
and explanations wipe out the fact that I was guilty 
of those two deaths. There was no use hanging 
about the house any longer, for they would refuse 
to see me under any circumstances, and so I left 
the veranda. 

Near the foot of the steps my eyes fell upon 
a piece of crumpled paper lying under a rosebush, 
as if deposited there by some idle wind. Little 
things had begun to interest me vastly of late, and 
so I picked it up. Typed upon it was a fragment 


I FIND MYSELF A MURDERER 


139 


of another chess game, opening with the Petroff 
defense, and, decoding it, I read: “Varney moves 
on second.” 

Pocketing it, I passed out of the gate, wondering 
what it meant, and believing that Frean had inad¬ 
vertently dropped it. Halfway up the block I 
turned instinctively, and, screened by a neighboring 
privet hedge, took a farewell look at the house 
where I had spent such an eventful three weeks, 
and which, for all my disgrace, drew me like home. 
As I looked I saw Joyce come out of the garage 
and go hunting about the veranda, as if searching 
for a thousand-dollar bill. It would seem that the 
paper in my pocket belonged to him, evidently a 
message from the Black King. 

Varney moves on second. Second what? Did 
it mean a certain square on the strange chessboard? 
But there are sixteen second squares, White and 
Black having eight each. Which one was it? 


CHAPTER X 


I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 

H ALF an hour later I was on my way to Phila¬ 
delphia, not New York; not to “face the 
music,” but to begin investigations concerning this 
mysterious organization styling itself the Black 
Company. I wasn’t trying to put off facing the 
music, nor had I any intention of shirking it; the 
tune itself meant nothing to me, but the death of 
that poor woman and child weighed heavily on my 
soul. I was a murderer—a double murderer—and 
I had flattered myself on getting off so easily! I 
had killed an innocent woman and child. It was 
no use pleading I had not done so intentionally, 
that I had no remembrance of it, that I wasn’t 
responsible for my actions. I was responsible. I 
was a man grown, and my own master. No one 
had asked me to get drunk that night, much less 
compelled me. I had elected to do so, and I must 
take the consequences. 

I saw myself as Miss Gelette must see me, at best 
a drunken fool with no respect for human life; at 
worst a callous coward to boot. It was not a 
lovely picture, and yet some good can come from 
the worst evil, and in truth our dead selves may 


I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


141 

be stepping-stones to higher things, for this hor¬ 
rible news I had heard heralded my final conquest 
of the Demon. I was effectually sobered for all 
time, as well I might be. Henceforth, I could never 
look into the flowing bowl without seeing mirrored 
therein a murdered woman and child. 

No, I was not running away from merited punish¬ 
ment. Indeed, the worst punishment I could suffer 
was what I took with me and could not escape— 
memory and conscience. Three weeks had passed 
since that terrible night, and a few days more or 
less would make little difference to waiting justice, 
while it might mean everything as regards my solv¬ 
ing the riddle of the Black Company. Once I made 
my identity known in New York I could say good-by 
to personal freedom; even though I were allowed 
out on bail, my movements would be severely re¬ 
stricted, and it might well be that I should receive 
a stiff jail sentence. Accidents from joy riding had 
been alarmingly frequent and the courts had threat¬ 
ened to make a summary example; well, they could 
find no more fitting example than myself and, as 
Frean had said, all my money couldn’t save me. 
I was just the type that the courts were after. 

And so, while I still had the opportunity, I deter¬ 
mined to learn something of the Black Company 
at firsthand, the only satisfactory way. For who 
would believe that such an organization existed, that 
it wasn’t the figment of an alcoholic imagination? 


142 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


Let Frean, when I didn’t turn up, set the police 
after me; let it be thought I was still trying to 
hide. I didn’t care; the public’s opinion of me 
could hardly be worse than it was. In all likelihood 
this man, Augustus Fremstad, was the Black King 
and through him I could learn much. Joyce had 
come straight from him, and it might be taken for 
granted that the “accident” which induced Mr. 
Fremstad to give up motoring was purely imaginary 
and designed simply as an excuse to pass Joyce 
on to Varney. 

Augustus Fremstad; obviously a German or 
hyphenated American. Was he a secret agent of 
the Central Powers and was I about to unearth a 
plot of the kind that was coming to light day 
after day? A plot to cripple the help that America 
was giving the Allies, or frustrate her coming par¬ 
ticipation in the war which most of us saw to be 
inevitable ? 

In view of what was happening all over the coun¬ 
try, this seemed the most logical answer. And yet 
where did Theodore Varney fit in? His personality 
had impressed itself strongly on me. I liked and 
admired the old tyrant, and I could not believe he 
had the remotest connection with such a conspiracy. 
How often and eloquntly, during our nightly games 
of chess, had he spoken of the tragedy of Belgium 
and how, for reasons of self-preservation, if none 
other, we should be in the field with France. 


I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


143 


Reason and inclination approved the theory that, 
rather than being associated with this secret society, 
he was a prospectice victim. But in what way? He 
was not even a wealthy man, as wealth goes—or 
so I had been given to understand; he had never 
mixed in politics, never figured prominently in any¬ 
thing but unobtrusive good works. And yet what 
did I actually know about him? No more than 
the servants and Miss Gelette had told me. Sea 
Bright wasn’t his home; he had no background there, 
and my opinion was based simply on hearsay and 
the little I had seen of him. 

Could it be possible, as I had thought initially, 
that there was a reverse side to the touching picture 
of the heroic and kind-hearted old invalid? Had 
he really Addison’s disease or, for reasons of his 
own, faked the symptoms ? Had that cryptic 
message “Varney moves on second” emanated from 
him, a message, say, to the Black King, dropped 
by Frean or even Joyce? It behooves me to take 
nothing for granted, to not let favorable prejudice 
blind me to possibilities. I must investigate Theo¬ 
dore Varney, look into his past in his home town. 
And I must visit the Charity Hospital and prove 
what I suspected—that Joyce never had been there. 

I reached Philadelphia by what an Irishman I 
know would call a “circuituitous” route, for though 
I believed I had fooled Joyce completely, I was 
taking no chances. Frean, of course, had no idea 


144 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


I knew anything about the Black Company, and 
even Corby, when he learned my true identity, would 
believe with Joyce that I had been merely trying 
to dodge the double charge of manslaughter and 
thus had every reason to assume the role I had. 
At the same time, just in case Joyce had some 
suspicions and communicated them to Frean or 
Corby, I made every pretense of leaving for New 
York, then doubled back at Red Bank and so 
went on to Camden. I was careful to see if I were 
followed, laying several clever traps, but there was 
no sign of Corby, Frean or Joyce. 

It was evening when I reached the Quaker City 
with which I am fairly familiar; indeed, I know it 
better than most New Yorkers, for there was a time 
when it was my temporary home. That was some 
ten years ago when I was working my way through 
college and, in summer, held down a job with 
Cable & Co., the big engineering firm, whose head 
offices are in New York. It wasn’t much of a post, 
but it helped me to pay my way, was obligingly 
waiting for me when the college year closed, and 
it led ultimately, on my graduation, to a good posi¬ 
tion in the New York office. Those were the days 
when I had ambition and a lean purse, the best 
companions for a hard road. Truly the real test 
comes with riches, not poverty. 

My plans, such as they were, were simple; I would 
secure a humble lodging and pose as a chauffeur 


I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


145 


looking for work. I had almost seventy-five dollars 
with me, my wages from Varney—I meant to return 
the money in due course—and this was enough to 
see me through; for, of course, though my check 
was good for hundreds of thousands I daren’t raise 
a penny on my true name. I should take the name 
of Smith, John Smith of Boston. Frean had not 
recognized me when I wore the smoked glasses but, 
in my present role, these would be too conspicuous, 
attracting the notice I wished to avoid, and a pair 
of ordinary ones would serve better. It was highly 
improbable that I should meet any one who knew 
me; it was years since I’d been in the town for 
any length of time, and at that period my ac¬ 
quaintances were in a far different class than my 
present ones. Howard Roupell, I believed, hailed 
originally from Philadelphia, and, of course, there 
were others, but I should steer clear of their luxuri¬ 
ous haunts. 

Having bought a pair of genuine brass-rimmed 
spectacles from a quack oculist who assured me I 
had astigmatism, and who charged me only five 
dollars because I reminded him of a long lost 
brother, I went straight to the hospital in question. 

“I’m looking for an old pal of mine, Henry 
Joyce,” I explained to an official behind a railed 
partition in the entrance hall. “He's a chauffeur, 
like me, and I heard tell when I was in Boston-” 

“Joyce, you say?” 


146 THE BLACK COMPANY 

“Yes, sir. I heard he’d been in a smash-up and 
brought here. Smith’s my name. I come on 
here-” 

“Your friend has left.” 

“What!” The fact that the man actually had 
been there was so unexpected, so contrary to my 
theory, that I could only gape. 

“He was discharged yesterday,” said the official, 
still consulting a large book. “It wasn’t a motor 
accident but assault.” And he turned me over to a 
white-capped nurse who appeared, saying she could 
give me a history of the case. 

Well, this nurse—I think she was in charge of 
the accident ward—very obligingly proceeded to tell 
me exactly what I had heard from Joyce himself; 
it was entire corroboration of his story, down to 
the hour and night of his admission to the hospital. 
The ambulance had brought him in, suffering from 
what was thought at first to be a compound fracture 
of the skull; he had been sandbagged and robbed 
out Moyamensing way in a lonely street. 

“I believe he has gone to New Jersey—I forget 
the place,” concluded the nurse. “He said he had 
a new situation there. But, no doubt, you know 
the address.” 

“Well, I can’t say I really know much about 
him, ma’am,” I confessed, feeling that, for an old 
pal, I was displaying rather surprising ignorance. 
“You know how it is when you get out of touch 


I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


147 


with a fellow, ma’am, him and me working in differ¬ 
ent cities. I just heard in a roundabout way, through 
another friend, of him being laid up here, and I 
took it for granted it was a smash-up, that being 
in our line. Did the police get the fellow who 
banged him up?” 

“Not to my knowledge. I understand that on 
that same night a prisoner escaped from Moyamen- 
sing and that the police think he may have been 
responsible, but I’ve heard nothing further.” 

So that was that, and I left the hospital feeling 
something of a fool. 

This feeling increased by leaps and bounds during 
the next two days, at the end of which period I 
was ready to believe that Corby had really been 
having a joke with me, that the Black Company 
had no existence but in his fertile imagination. 
Perhaps it was the sort of thing produced by butter¬ 
milk, for not only did I find Theodore Varney’s 
character to be above reproach, agreeing with all 
I had heard of it, but also that of Augustus Frem- 
stad. Thus another of my theories went west in 
no uncertain fashion. Rather than Mr. Fremstad 
proving to be a German or hyphenated American, 
he came of an old Dutch family who had been in 
Philadelphia since the time of Penn, a man of the 
most blameless and upright character it was pos¬ 
sible to conceive. Moreover, he had given up motor¬ 
ing through an accident in which both he and Joyce 


148 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


had had a very narrow escape, the brakes of their 
car suddenly failing to act. 

I need not weary you with the details of how I 
conducted my investigation, but that I was able to do 
so thoroughly and quickly was due in no small 
measure to a man whom I had known by sight— 
as did most people in Philadelphia—when I worked 
with Cable & Co. This man was “Big Tim” 
Scallon, in those days a political czar of sorts and, 
if report went for anything, no better than the gen¬ 
eral type. In appearance he resembled Nast’s worst 
caricature of “Boss” Tweed, a big bruiser of a 
man with the inevitable cigar and diamonds. But 
I had a certain admiration for him in those days. 
They were corrupt days in Philly—they may be so 
yet, for all I know—and I thought Scallon got 
blamed for things he never did, for the faults of 
the “system” rather than individual ones. 

At all events he faded from the public eye, how 
or when I didn’t know; for I’m not much on 
politics and have all I can do to understand some¬ 
thing of the New York game without going else¬ 
where. At any rate I’d heard nothing of Scallon 
for years, and had forgotten all about him until, 
toward evening of the second day of my visit, I 
saw him in Market Street, as large as life and seem¬ 
ingly as prosperous as ever. I don’t know how 
they manage it, but I’ve never yet seen an eclipsed 
politician who didn’t manage to look like real money, 


I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


149 

even if he’d reached the bottom of the old sock 
at home. 

Now this investigation business isn’t so easy as 
it sounds; I used to think that these private agencies 
were the softest way of making money, but they’re 
not—not if they’re on the level like, say, the famous 
Blunt Agency. It sounds easy in books but it 
isn’t, and I didn’t take long to find that out. You 
have to wade through tons of chaff before reaching 
any wheat. 

To begin with, I had to disentangle the Augustus 
Fremstad I wanted from half a dozen others be¬ 
fore starting to get a line on him. I was pretty 
well fed up with the job, and when I spied Tim 
Scallon, I realized he could do more for me in five 
minutes than I could for myself in five days. I 
knew that his career had been as varied as a bottle 
of the fifty-seven varieties, that he had been born 
and bred in Philly and knew everybody in town, 
high and low, like the palm of his own hand. And 
he would part with his information on very little 
provocation, that being part of his stock in trade, 
you might say. Of course, he didn’t know me, and 
I wouldn’t proclaim my true identity, but the very 
fact of his owning such a huge and mottled ac¬ 
quaintance made imposition all the easier. He would 
even pretend to remember having met me if I in¬ 
sisted on the point. It was his job to remember 
all the voters and their progeny, the name of the 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


150 

first-born and what grandma died of, interesting and 
memorable stuff like that. 

So I stepped out as his huge waddling figure 
heaved abreast of me and introduced myself as the 
friend of one Harrigan, whom I knew definitely as 
a former crony of his who had settled in New 
York some ten years ago. He shifted his cigar 
to port and received me with the genial smile I 
had always liked; a good-hearted fellow for all his 
unlovely looks. But his eyes were shrewd and 
cautious as he added, “Well, Mr. Smith, what can 
I do for you?” 

I told him nothing much; merely that I was 
employed in a private investigation bureau in New 
York, that a client wanted inside dope on Theodore 
Varney and Augustus Fremstad, and that Harrigan 
had advised me to see him, Scallon. 

“It’s fortunate we met,” I said, “for I was going 
to look you up. I’ve got a letter of introduction 
to you.” And I began an imaginary search of my 
pocket. “It’s here somewhere; I hope I haven’t 
misplaced it-” 

Scallon interrupted, acting precisely as I had 
judged he would. “That’s all right,” he said, 
waving a pulpy hand. “Never mind. Sure, I know 
Fremstad and Varney, though we never were what 
you might call bosoms. They’re out of the top 
drawer, y’know—swell folk, not in my alley at 
all. Anybody could tell you about ’em, and you’re 



I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


i5i 

welcome to what I know, which is plenty. If this 
client of your firm is figgerin’ on diggin’ up some¬ 
thing nasty about ’em, he’s wasting his money and 
your time, see? Why, there ain’t a more harmless 
coupla old cooties in Philly! I bet they was born 
with a crown an’ harp.” 

Thus Scallon corroborated not only what I had 
already learned by my own endeavors, but told me 
a good deal more, even affirming that it was gener¬ 
ally known old Varney had some disease that made 
him “yeller as a yeller dorg” and, because of that, 
was living the life of a recluse. 

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he 
had ever heard of such an organization as the 
Black Company, but I refrained. Not that I didn’t 
trust Scallon, for the man confirmed, on this meet¬ 
ing, the opinion I had always held of him. Gross, 
no doubt, but honest according to his lights; kind- 
hearted to a fault, and loyal to his friends and the 
friends of friends; above petty malice or spite. A 
lot of good in these old-time, two-fisted politicians, 
let people talk as they may. They had their virtues. 
It went against the grain to impose on him even 
in so small a matter. Nor did I doubt his local 
knowledge. If such a society existed, he, of all 
men, would have heard some rumor of it. No, 
it wasn’t that; it was simply that, standing there in 
Market Street talking with so sane and normal a 
being as Big Tim, and mindful also of the past 


152 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


days’ failures, the whole matter of the Black Com¬ 
pany seemed an absurd fantasy. Scallon would 
laugh at me; how he would laugh! And perhaps, 
in any case it would be just as well if I said 
nothing. He would pass it on as a joke to some 
one, and if there should happen to be any truth 
in it- 

But was there? What had I to go on? Nothing 
more than what Corby had told me, a man who 
might be half insane or who had a sense of humor 
even more eccentric than my own. Those two 
messages in the ingenious chess code might have 
come from Corby himself as part and parcel of the 
joke. Out of what flimsy material had I con¬ 
structed this melodramatic play of the Black Com¬ 
pany ! 

“A play that refuses to play. A play in which 
nobody acts but myself—and I’m the clown,” I 
thought as, saying farewell to Scallon, I walked 
through the darkening streets to my humble lodgings 
near the river. “I’d better be getting back to New 
York; I’m only wasting my time here. There’s 
nothing in it, and anyway, what business is it of 
mine? No, I’ve nothing to do-” 

But I had, right at that place and moment. In¬ 
deed there was rather too much to do; for there 
were three of them, waiting for me obligingly in 
the dark alley near my lodgings. I walked right 
into the trap and never even saw the blow that 




I DO SOME INVESTIGATING 


153 


was meant to finish me. That I dodged it was due 
to no skill on my part, nothing but an accident. I 
tripped and stumbled over something at the right 
moment. The next, all four of us were inextricably 
involved. That sort of thing suits me, being built, 
as I am, something like a steam roller. I am no 
Carpentier, a thing of agility and grace, and my 
every movement is distinctly not a picture. The 
confined space also suited me; it’s difficult to 
dodge a steam roller in an alley. The darkness 
suited me, too; I had three people to hit, my op¬ 
ponents only one; they had considerably more margin 
for mistakes, and they made them. Even so, I 
might not have survived, had it not been for an 
inquisitive policeman who promulgated himself into 
the proceedings; with unerring intelligence he cen¬ 
tered his attentions on me so that, by the time 
explanations were in order, my adversaries were 
probably as far as Chestnut Street. 

“Well, we’ve had a nice little go, officer, and no 
hard feelings,” I said. “But those other birds 
started the show. Yes, maybe it is what they all 
say, but that doesn’t make it less the truth. Yes, 
perhaps I was doing all the fighting; I had to. All 
right, I’ll go home; I’m not looking for more. Too 
much is enough.” 

Alone in my room I found a rip in my coat 
where a knife had missed the jugular, discovered 
a gash on my left forearm, and located several 


I 54 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


bumps on my head that had not been there when 
last inspected by the phrenologist. He would have 
called them, no doubt, bumps of folly and stupidity. 

Thinking it all over, I decided anew that it was 
indeed time I returned to New York. After all, 
there is no place like home, and certainly jail is 
preferable to a coffin. 


CHAPTER XI 


I RETURN HOME 

[ LEFT my lodgings the following morning, un- 
* obtrusively, to say the least. As my landlady 
had had the forethought to secure the week’s rent 
of my room in advance, there was no occasion 
to interview her, nor was I hampered by excess 
baggage. Early to bed and early to rise is a splendid 
maxim, and I was up and out before the sun—for 
the first time in many years. Perhaps the best thing 
to get a fellow out of bed bright and early is the 
fear of being murdered in it. At least it worked 
very successfully with me. 

You may have gathered by this time that I am 
no hero, so I may as well admit it. Somehow, the 
idea of being potted from dark corners by some¬ 
body you don’t even know, never appealed to me 
particularly. I was born with the failing. I don’t 
mind a decent row now and then, but this clutching- 
hand game—no, thank you, it is not for me. 

As I sneaked downstairs in the dark and left the 
house, via the back yard and a couple of fences, I 
could say with that hero in Dickens’ yarn, “It is a 
far, far better thing I do than I have ever done; 
I go to a far, far better rest than I have ever 


156 THE BLACK COMPANY 

known/’ After all, perhaps I should be safest in 
jail. 

Yes, there isn’t a lazy bone in my body when it 
comes to keeping ahead of the emaciated old boy 
on the white horse, and that little affair in the 
alley was a hint I meant to take. Those three worthy 
fellows had been laying for me, and their purpose 
wasn’t robbery. I wasn’t worth robbing, nor do 
footpads use knives right off the reel. By all odds 
I should have gone west right then and there, with 
nobody knowing what had happened to me. I was 
supposed to be dead in any case; old Varney and 
Miss Gelette knew I wasn’t, so did Frean and 
Joyce, but the former wouldn’t worry if I never 
claimed resurrection, while it might suit the purpose 
of the latter for the general public to think me 
under the clover and violets. 

Fantastic or not, I had to admit the possibility 
that the Black Company not only existed outside 
Corby’s buttermilk brain, but that it was a far 
more ruthless criminal combine than I had imagined. 
Yes, and able, too; rather much so I assure you 
that alone in my room in that house with the 
door barricaded—for it wasn’t a cheerful neighbor¬ 
hood—the possibility seemed considerably less fan¬ 
tastic than it had in Market Street when I was 
talking to Tim Scallon. I was quite ready to be¬ 
lieve they had suspected me from the first and that 
I had been followed from Sea Bright; or word had 


I RETURN HOME 


157 


been sent on with a detailed description. They knew 
of my visit to the hospital, of my investigations, 
and, even while talking to Scallon, those fellows had 
been waiting to cook my goose. 

I had been a fool, underrated the enemy and 
given myself away; and in coming here alone under 
an assumed name, and with strictly limited funds, 
I had played right into their hands. Thus situated, 
what could I hope to accomplish against a combine 
with such a spy system, who struck in the dark 
and without scruple? Nothing, and less than noth¬ 
ing. They knew where I lived. I would be dogged 
by people I didn’t even know, and sooner or later 
put out of the way. 

Adventure is all very well—I love it, especially 
when lying in bed armed with a good pipe—and 
perhaps there are some superhuman souls capable 
of grappling single-handed with such a situation as 
I faced, but assuredly I wasn’t one of them, nor 
had I any longing to be. My inflated conception 
of my own ability and cleverness had received a 
bad puncture, and it behooved me to get out of 
this mess as quickly as I’d got into it. 

If they thought me bottled up in that house, and 
were keeping watch on it, my early and unorthodox 
manner of departure fooled them, for I got safely 
aboard the New York train. Try though I might, 
I failed utterly to detect anything that would lead 
me to think I was being followed. 


158 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


I bought a paper, expecting to find some an¬ 
nouncement of my resurrection; surely it was time 
the yellow press got after me with such captions 
as “Lawton alive and hiding from justice. Hires 
tramp to assume his identity/’ Perhaps they would 
even hint that I had conspired to have my victim 
pulped by that train; that I had drugged, or murdered 
him offhand, and then placed him and the car on the 
tracks where they would do the most good. I 
expected to read something like that; but, no, there 
wasn’t a word about me of any description. Why 
had Frean said nothing? It seemed to support 
the idea that he had reason to keep my resurrec¬ 
tion secret. I wasn’t exactly a national figure, but 
certainly, in view of that manslaughter charge, if 
nothing else, the papers would have something to 
say—even the most conservative—did they know I 
still lived. And now they treated me as though 
indeed I were a month-old corpse. 

My trip was completed without incident, and when 
I got into the Pennsylvania Station I ran plump 
against Howard Roupell, the friend of all Others 
whom I cared least to meet at that moment. He 
was a bore and gossip. I shoudn’t have minded, 
indeed would have welcomed, Bob Hewitt or Tommy 
Ashton; but no, it had to be Roupell. He con¬ 
sidered it his mission in life to tell alleged funny 
stories, and though I admit he’s a first-class mimic, 
that sort of thing gets rather wearing at times, 


I RETURN HOME 


159 


especially when the perpetrator mistakes pure dirt 
for humor, as Roupell so frequently did. I am no 
puritan, but—well, there’s a limit. 

I hoped to dodge him, or that he wouldn’t recog¬ 
nize me without my mustache, but that hope was 
vain indeed. Although fat and sleepy-looking, he 
can be very observant. He started back, gulped, 
threw wide his short arms and bellowed, “Mug! 
By all the saints, it’s Mug!” 

Now that’s a pet name; it’s only a few par¬ 
ticular friends who call me that on occasion, fellows 
like Ashton and Hewitt who knew me at Princeton. 
They have a right to admire and remark on my 
beauty. Roupell wasn’t in that category at all. 

“It must be Mug!” he added. “Mustache or 
no mustache, there’s no mistaking that face.” 

I dare say there isn’t; all the same I didn’t like 

to hear about it publicly from him, any more than 
I liked the flamboyant greeting that followed. He 
thumped me on the back, spluttered questions, pawed 
me all over, created quite a scene. I knew the 

old Falstaff meant well, and his joy at seeing me 
was flattering, joy at the return of the dead prodigal, 
but I didn’t care to partake of the fatted calf right 
there on the public platform. People were stretch¬ 
ing their necks and asking questions. 

“Let’s get out of this,” I said. “I’m not on 

exhibition, Roupell. Yes, of course I’m alive. Do 
you think I’m a walking corpse? Didn’t Frean tell 


160 THE BLACK COMPANY 

you and the bunch I wasn't dead, that it was all 
a mistake?” 

“I haven’t seen Frean for weeks; don’t know 
where he is. And how should he know? Where 
have you been?” 

“I haven’t time to explain it all now. I’ll see 
you later-” 

“No! You must tell me now. Why, it’s the 
most astounding thing that ever happened and you 
act as if it were nothing! Why, man, you’re sup¬ 
posed to be dead and buried! Why, I even sent 
a wreath—a beautiful one—and went to the service 
and all that. I did indeed.” 

“And now it’s all wasted. Too bad. But I’ll 
do as much for you some day. No, I can’t lunch 
with you; I’m sorry but I’ve an appointment-” 

“No, you haven’t—except with me. You’ve got 
to lunch with me. If you don’t want publicity, we 
can go to my rooms. I must hear all about every¬ 
thing; I’m entitled to it. And I’ve got a new story, 
Lawton—the funniest thing you ever heard. You 
must-” 

I managed to break loose, after promising to dine 
with him on the first opportunity. It went to his 
heart to see his prey escape; not only was I a new 
audience on which he could lavish his latest story, 
but I had a story of my own—I must have— 
which he wished to be the first to hear and publish. 
However, he had to be content with the mere fact 





I RETURN HOME 


161 


that I was alive, a startling enough news item, 
which I knew he would proceed forthwith to broad¬ 
cast. I shuffled him off in the crowd and then hopped 
a taxi, giving the driver an address on lower Broad¬ 
way. It was the address of old Hannay, my law¬ 
yer; I must see him first before surrendering myself 
to the law. 

Mr. Hannay had known my family for twenty 
years and more, knew facts about them that even 
I didn't. He had had sole charge of my uncle’s 
affairs and had always shown a fatherly sort of 
interest in me, perhaps because he was an old 
bachelor; indeed it was through him that I had 
been able to secure my first job with Cable & Co. 
He had helped me—unknown, I am sure, to my 
uncle—in many little ways like that. He was a 
lawyer of the old school, of the best type, and I 
knew that my conduct, since coming into the Law- 
ton money, had wounded him terribly. I had proved 
a sore trial and disappointment. 

Of course I now gave him a bad fright when I 
walked in on him, for, like Frean and Roupell, he 
had no difficulty in recognizing me; and yet, as he 
afterward was good enough to say, it was the 
happiest experience of his life. When he got his 
second wind he pumped my hand up and down, 
clapped me on the back, and all but wept over me. 
I had never suspected him of having such really 
great affection for me, and I was deeply touched. 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


162 

“Resurrection!” he exclaimed, wiping his eyes. 
“And not only of the flesh, but of the spirit! Yes, 
it is; I can see it, anybody could. You are your 
old self, Peter. You are the young man who 
entered this office six months ago, full of ideals 
and high ambition-” 

“And left it last full of idleness and rum? 
Exactly.” 

“No, I wouldn’t say that, but-” 

“It’s the truth, and you know it. I’ve been 
taking a new kind of cure.” 

“Well, it’s the best I ever heard of; whatever 
you’ve done, it’s been a howling success. I never 
saw such a change in my life. For a dead man 
you’re wonderfully, beautifully alive, your old self. 
Come now, tell me all about it. If I wasn’t so 
happy, I’d be incensed with you—not to tell me 
before this that you were safe and sound.” 

“Yes, I owed you that, you of all people. But 
I thought it best to cut the whole crowd, let me 
be supposed to be dead. Well, I’ll start at the 
beginning.” 

Now I had no intention of telling him a word 
about the Black Company, not that I didn’t trust 
him above anybody; but shrewd and able though 
I knew him to be, he was really about the last 
person who would have credited the melodramatic 
and totally inadequate evidence I was prepared to 
supply. He was not a criminal lawyer, had little 




I RETURN HOME 


163 

imagination, and I knew would pooh-pooh the whole 
matter. In all probability he would think, though 
not say—and on this point I was acutely sensitive— 
that I was laboring under a hallucination conjured 
up initially by John Barleycorn. I didn’t mean to 
say a word about it even to Hewitt or Ashton, 
intimate friends though they were. There was one 
person in New York to whom I meant to speak 
freely, one and one only; I had thought it all out 
and decided. 

But, of course, I had to tell about Mr. Varney, 
just where I had been and how employed; that 

was bound to come out in any case. So I pro¬ 

ceeded to give a slightly revised version of what 
had happened since I left the Princeton Inn that 
memorable night. 

“It all came from a drunken bet—at least / was 
drunk,” I explained. “But it turned out to be the 
best thing for me. I’ve discovered there’s nothing 

better for my sort than getting up at six in the 

morning, looking after three cars, and doing odd 
jobs around a big house. I’ve been sampling the 
sort of stuff I was reared on—plain grub, lots of 
work, and no drink. I’ve found it’s the only kind 
that suits me if I want to stay above ground, and 
I’ve come back to put in a few good licks at 
the plans of that engineering school and other stuff 
you and I mapped out. No more thick days or 


164 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


nights for me; I’ve had my lesson and I’m through, 
eternally through.” 

“I see that a miracle has happened,” he ex¬ 
claimed, shaking hands with me all over again. “I 
believe that, of all the Lawtons, you are going 
to break the terrible family curse. I thought it 
from the first day I saw you, and now I know it.” 

“I only hope you’re right, Mr. Hannay. Any¬ 
way, I’m going to do my level best. If prohibi¬ 
tion ever comes to this country I guess it will be 
mainly because of people like me; I mean other 
fellows who can take a drink decently, and perhaps 
be all the better for it, will have to suffer through 
my failing.” 

“It’s more than that, my boy.” 

“Yes, I know it. I believe some doctors say 
that you can’t inherit such a craving, any more 
than you can inherit T. B., but I know better. 
Certainly I didn’t have to learn to like the stuff; 
it’s a gift. I’ve caught this thing just in time and, 
seeing you can’t make a fellow drink by main force, 
the Lawton curse will have to peter out right here.” 

“I’m sure it will, my boy. You’ve had your 
lesson.” 

“Yes, but I’ve yet to pay for it. I wanted to see 
you first, get the plans about that free engineering 
school settled, and some other stuff, too; so let us 
go to it while I’m still free.” 

“Free? Are you thinking of getting married?” 


I RETURN HOME 


165 

“Yes, but the lady isn’t—at least to me. What 
I meant, of course, was that Roupell knows I’ve 
turned up, and that means the whole town, sooner 
or later—generally sooner. I prefer to surrender 
myself.” 

“To whom? And for what?” 

“Why, to the police, of course. You know, 
for that double charge of manslaughter. I hope 
you believe, Mr. Hannay, I didn’t know anything 
about killing that poor woman and child. Honestly, 
I hadn’t the faintest idea-” 

“But, my dear boy, you didn’t kill them!” 

“What!” I cried, springing to my feet. “Do— 
do you really mean that?” 

“Of course I do,” said Mr. Hannay, beaming 
on me. “You’ve been blaming yourself quite un¬ 
necessarily; you aren’t guilty and never were.” 



CHAPTER XII 


THE RETURNED PRODIGAL 

I T is impossible to describe adequately the effect 
that this news had on me, to convey the relief 
I felt; it seemed too good, far too good, to be 
true, and yet Mr. Hannay spoke with such com¬ 
plete assurance and authority as to preclude all 
doubt. Somehow, in some manner, I had escaped 
after all! These torturing thoughts of mine had 
had no real basis in fact. I had been a trusting 

fool, the victim of .a cruel lie. Ah, Frean- 

“So it never happened?” I cried. “Frean knew 
I hadn’t seen the papers—I told him so—and that 
I wouldn’t want to see them, read about what I 
was supposed to have done. He banked on that. 
He wanted me to run away and hide. There was 

no accident, no woman and child-” 

“Oh, yes, there was,” interrupted Mr. Hannay. 
“And both were killed; that’s all quite true. But 
don’t you see that if your car was stolen it entirely 
exculpates you ?” 

From the heights I plunged anew into the depths. 
I felt like hitting the good Mr. Hannay for having 
raised such false hopes. “It doesn’t exculpate me at 
all!” I exclaimed. “I only wish it did!” 

“Why doesn’t it?” 




THE RETURNED PRODIGAL 


167 


“Because it doesn’t! Any fool knows that. Don’t 

you see that Camden-” And I repeated what 

Frean had said. “Excuse me for being so short 
with you, Mr. Hannay, but you don’t know what 
I’ve been through in the way of remorse, and these 
false hopes-” 

“But, my dear boy, they aren’t false; not a bit 
of it. I wouldn’t say so if I wasn’t absolutely sure. 
It’s quite true that Red Bank is on the route you 
took, and that your assailant, in going from Sea 
Bright to Camden, would have no reason to pass 
through it. Yet the facts are that he did” 

“What! How do you know?” 

“Well, you say you met Mr. Varney and his 

niece in their car at about nine o’clock ?” 

“Yes, I’m perfectly sure of that. When I left 
my car, I noticed by the illuminated clock that it 
was a quarter to nine.” 

“And it was after ten when the woman and 
child were run over in Red Bank,” said Mr. Han¬ 
nay. “There is no question about that, and if 
you’d happened to read the account in the paper 

you’d have known it. Here it is; see for your¬ 

self.” And he handed me the paper in question. 

“Yes, I see that!” I exclaimed, reading the para¬ 
graph he had marked. “By George, I—I-” In 

my relief I got up and shook him by both hands. 
An unbearable load had lifted from my heart. After 
all, I had escaped! The fatality had occurred at ten 





168 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


minutes past ten, and at that time I was lying 
unconscious behind a hedge near the Sea Bright 
station. 

And then a horrible doubt assailed me. “But 
can I prove it?” I cried. “Will anybody believe me? 
Pm sure about the time; I observed other details 
accurately that night, even though I was hopelessly 
drunk. I observed things that were afterward 
proved to be correct. But you see what people 
will say—that I was drunk and couldn’t have 
known the time.” 

“But Mr. Varney and his niece weren’t drunk,” 
said Mr. Hannay. “They will be able at least to 
approximate the hour when you talked with them 
at the crossroads. You may be sure of that.” 

“Yes, but I don’t think Mr. Varney would lift 
a finger to save me from the gallows. I told you 
what happened when I was discharged. He hates 
me.” 

“U-m-m,” murmured Mr. Hannay. “Just so. 
Well, we can do without his evidence, if need be. 
There’s the man Taylor to prove where and how 
he found you early the next morning. If it was 
you who came back through Red Bank, how could 
the car be smashed to flinders at Camden near mid¬ 
night and you found half unconscious at Sea Bright 
five hours later? How could you get there with¬ 
out being seen? No, it’s impossible on the face of 
it. I tell you that the fact of another person having 


THE RETURNED PRODIGAL 169 

the car, and being killed in your place, explains 
everything, and we won’t have any trouble proving 
your innocence.” 

“1 only hope so,” I said, “but Mr. Varney’s 
evidence may be absolutely necessary. Now, Mr. 
Hannay, you’ve known my family since before I 
was born; you know, I dare say, things that even 
I don’t?” 

“Possibly,” said the old lawyer cautiously. 

“Well, have you ever heard of Theodore Varney 
previous to this? Do you know of any reason 
why he should be so bitter against my family? For 
I tell you it wasn’t merely that I’d imposed on 
him; he had forgiven me posing as Joyce until 
he heard my real name. Then he went right up 
in the air. It wasn’t that he believed me guilty of 
those two deaths and thought I was a coward 
in hiding; that was only part of it. Back of it all 
was a dislike for me personally because I was Peter 
Lawton. I’m sure of that.” 

Mr. Hannay stroked his chin. “Well, I suppose 
I’d better tell you, my boy; I can’t very well keep 
it back now. He hates you because you are your 
father’s son. You see, Mr. Varney was deeply in 
love with your mother.” 

I wasn’t so greatly astonished at this informa¬ 
tion, for some such idea had occurred to me that 
morning in the car, when Varney spoke so bitterly 
of my father. “Then it is merely a case of a jealous 


170 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


and disappointed suitor still nursing a fancied griev¬ 
ance? Come, tell me -all you know.” 

“Well, with all due respect to the dead, Pm 
afraid your father hardly treated Mr. Varney fairly 
—nor did your mother, either, for that matter. I 
knew all the interested parties personally, and can 
speak with authority. Varney and your father 
were very intimate friends, and it was the former 
who introduced the latter to the then Miss Canning. 
Varney and she had known each other almost from 
childhood, and though there was no official engage¬ 
ment it was common knowledge that they cared 
for each other, were pledged, in fact, and would 
eventually marry. Indeed, Varney confided this to 
his chum, your father. At this time, also—when 
your father first met your mother—the same under¬ 
standing existed between your father and Varney’s 
only sister-” 

“Phew!” I exclaimed. “You can’t mean Brenda 
Gelette’s mother?” 

“I do, Peter. You see the fearful mix-up that 
followed? Your father and mother fell in love 
with each other at first sight, one of those passion¬ 
ate, all-sacrificing attachments, not unknown to 
human history, which is bound to promote or end 
in tragedy. Miss Varney seems to have survived 
the shock of their sudden elopement—at least she 
eventually married—but it certainly ruined her 
brother’s life. 



THE RETURNED PRODIGAL 171 

f T should never have told you all this if you 
hadn’t insisted,” finished Mr. Hannay kindly, “and 
don’t think I’ve exaggerated or overstated the case. 
Your mother was an honorable woman, your father 
an honorable man, and, though I’ve no experience 
of such things, it is clear that in this instance their 
mutual attachment overcame every scruple. But 
Mr. Varney is entirely wrong if he says your 
father broke your mother’s heart. He did so only 
by dying—and she followed him quickly. Nor did 
he die in an alcoholic ward, as your Uncle Peter 
claimed, though I can’t pretend he conserved either 
his fortune or his health.” 

“Well,” I said at length, “it’s not for me to judge. 
At any rate, I now understand Mr. Varney’s cordial 
dislike for me, and I must say I don’t blame him. 
I only wish I’d known about it.” 

I proceeded to put some adroit questions to the 
old lawyer concerning Mr. Varney, for here was 
one who had known him and his brother intimately 
and who might unwittingly give me some clew to 
the other’s connection with the Black Company. I 
succeeded, however, in learning nothing that Scal- 
lon hadn’t told me already. 

We now discussed more material matters con¬ 
nected with my affairs, and I learned that my 
will had not been probated, and that my old quar¬ 
ters in the Belvedere, on Madison Avenue, were 
just as I had left them. I was glad to hear, too, 


172 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


that Watkins, whom I had had since starting my 
new mode of life, was still at his post. 

“As you know/’ said Mr. Hannay, “the lease 
isn’t up till the end of the year, and Watkins 
begged to be allowed to remain in charge of the 
apartments till they were sublet. It’s a funny thing, 
but he said from the first he had a feeling you 
weren’t dead at all, and might come walking in 
any day. About giving your story to the press, 
of course, you can’t avoid that. Is it possible to 
keep Mr. Varney’s name out of it?” 

“Unfortunately not. Frean would tell all about 
my employment there if I didn’t. By the way, has 
he made it up with his father? I heard he hadn’t, 
but I’m not certain.” 

“You may be certain. The scamp’s getting money 
from some quarter, according to all accounts of 
the way he’s living, though I don’t know who would 
employ him even for his parents’ sake.” 

“Where do you suppose he’s getting it from?” 

Mr. Hannay shrugged. “Considering that crooked 
brokerage deal—he ought to have been jailed—I 
shouldn’t be surprised if he was interested in some 
bucket shop, probably as a tout. A thoroughly 
bad egg, if you want my opinion. I hope you’ll 
steer clear of him in future, Peter; he can’t bring 
you any good. No, he can never make things 
right with his family, the time for that is past 
and the break is absolute and final. His people 


THE RETURNED PRODIGAL 


173 


have stood all that is humanly possible, far more 
than is generally known. There are some people 
you can’t do anything with, no matter how hard 
you try; people who seem to have no morals, in 
whom there is nothing to appeal. Arnold Frean 
is one of them; he never was any good and he 
never will be. I never could understand what 
you saw in him, why you made a companion of 
him.” 

“But I didn’t,” I replied. “He was at Princeton 
with me, you know, and after all, that means some¬ 
thing. But I hardly knew him at college; we weren’t 
in the same year, and in entirely different sets-” 

“I dare say,” interrupted Mr. Hannay grimly. 
“You’d no money to throw around then.” 

“No, and he had. He had too much. It wasn’t 
until after I inherited Uncle Peter’s check book 
that I really knew Frean, and I can’t say I know 
much about him even now. I met him as I met 
dozens of others, people you don’t seem to meet 
unless you’ve money. Perhaps you can tell me 
who his intimate friends are-” 

“No, and I don’t care; nobody to be proud of, 
I’ll wager. And now, my boy, we’ll trot down 
and see the district attorney; we just have time. 
There is another point in that newspaper article 
to which I wish to call your attention; you may 
have overlooked it. It states distinctly that the 
car came from the south and turned west, whereas 




174 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


you would have come from the north. Having no 
idea it wasn’t you who were driving, the only 
supposition was that you’d gone south, returned 
to Red Bank, and struck out for Camden, aiming 
possibly at Philadelphia. But I doubt if you ac¬ 
tually passed through Red Bank at all, for why 
was the car and its license number noted only on 
the return trip? No, you may rest assured that 
we’ll have no difficulty in establishing your inno¬ 
cence.” 

Nor had we, at least nothng approaching what 
I had expected. But I couldn’t help wondering 
what my reception would have been had I been 
poor and unknown. I don’t mean to say that I 
could have bought an immunity bath, or clogged 
the wheels of justice with gold pieces, but—well, 
wealth and position certainly make a difference. 
Witness Frean’s case, the influence that kept him 
out of jail. The mere fact that a man like Mr. 
Hannay was my friend made a profound difference 
in itself, and a story that might have seemed in¬ 
credible from the lips of a pauper, seemed other¬ 
wise when voiced by a millionaire. At all events 
it was credited and, pending corroboration from 
Varney and the man Taylor—a mere matter of 
form, I was assured—I was released on my own 
recognizance. Of course I was entitled to be re¬ 
leased, for I wasn’t guilty, but had I been poor 
and unknown I should have been remanded to 


THE RETURNED PRODIGAL 


175 


jail while my story was being investigated. That 
is the difference, I suppose, between wealth and 
poverty, influence and nonentity. 

It was nearing six o’clock when I left the Tombs 
and, saying farewell to Mr. Hannay, boarded a sub¬ 
way local. At Fourteenth Street I got out, intend¬ 
ing to change to the uptown express. The station 
presented its usual bedlam rush-hour appearance, 
and I had some trouble in bucking my way through 
to the first row waiting to rush the doors. I 
thought I heard my name called, but could see 
no one I knew. Then, just as the express drew 
in, some one gave me a violent shove, and I pitched 
headfirst to the rails. 

I don’t know to this day how I escaped. No¬ 
body does. By all odds, I should have been pulped 
under the wheels or “third-railed” into eternity as 
quick as winking. I imagine, perhaps, my old foot¬ 
ball training helped me; I mean I knew instinctively 
how to fall without breaking any bones, and even 
if tackled and thrown from a totally unexpected 
quarter, to keep my wits and go on thinking. At 
all events I hit on my shoulder and scrambled over 
to the downtown rails in some occult fashion as 
the express with screeching brakes shot past, far 
too close for comfort. 

Having no wish to figure further in the papers, 
I scrambled on to the downtown platform, waved 
a hand to the gaping crowd to show I was unhurt, 


176 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


and dodged up the steps to the street before most 
of the people realized what it was all about. I 
had got off with a bruised shoulder, though the 
Black Company had meant my life. It was a nice 
reception for a returned prodigal! 


CHAPTER XIII 


AT THE ADMIRAL 

'"THIS and last night’s affair was asking too 
* much of coincidence. They must be related and 
instigated by the same hand, and I decided to finish 
the rest of my homeward trip by taxi. I had been 
foolish not to return in the one that brought Mr. 
Hannay and myself to the Tombs. 

As I reached the sidewalk, on the opposite side 
of the street, somebody stepped up quickly behind 
me and, my nerves being jumpy by this time, I 
whirled round with ready fist, thinking another play 
was being made for my life. Indeed I had almost 
swatted the man before I recognized him as Tommy 
Ashton. The relief was so great that I burst out 
laughing. 

I may pass over our initial greeting; Ashton, 
of course, was delighted to see me, but not greatly 
astonished, for news of my miraculous return was 
pretty well over town by this time and, no doubt, 
would appear in the evening papers. 

“Yes, I’ve a story to tell, but I don’t want to tell 
it here,” I said, anxious to get away from the 
scene of my recent “accident” before Ashton got 
wind of it. “I’ve told it three or four times already 


178 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


to-day so it’s getting pretty monotonous. Suppose 
you come home with me and then we’ll call up 
Hewitt-” 

“Bob’s in Florida on business and won’t be back 
for a month or more—the plans of that new 
hotel at Ormond, you know. I’m leaving for Philly 
myself in an hour or so. Let’s beat it to the 
Admiral for a bite and your story; that’s all I’ve 
time for.” 

“My story will keep, Tommy, and you’ll see it 
in the papers-” 

“I want it at first hand—now. I’m entitled to it. 
Come on.” 

So we hopped a taxi—I said I wanted to dodge 
reporters—to the huge new hotel where Ashton, 
a bachelor, had recently installed himself, and se¬ 
cured a quiet corner table in the grill. He received 
a shock when I turned down the wine card but, 
a true friend, climbed up on the wagon beside me. 

“Far be it from me to add to your temptations,” 
he said as I protested. “And it’s really no sacrifice 
on my part. I know what it is to have that stuff 
shoved under your nose. I must say you’re looking 
prime, Pete, whatever you’ve been doing with your¬ 
self. If you’re really on this water-wagon game 
for good-” 

“I am, booked through for life. I mean it. 
Tommy.” 

“Shake hands on that!” he exclaimed. “I believe 





AT THE ADMIRAL 


179 


you do mean it and that you’re capable of pulling 
it off. You’ve changed a whole lot; even the loss 
of that alleged mustache is an improvement. And 
now let’s hear all about it.” 

“Well, to begin with, if I didn’t win that bet 
I came mighty near it. I earned my keep by the 
sweat of my brow for three whole weeks, if not 

a month. You see-” And I proceeded to tell 

the whole thing over again, omitting, as heretofore, 
all reference to the Black Company. 

“Well?” queried Ashton as I finished. 

“Well what?” 

“Your adventures are all very interesting, but 
what about the rest?” 

“There isn’t any more; I’ve told you everything.” 

“Oh, no, you haven’t; you’ve omitted the most 
interesting part.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

Ashton raised his eyes and they met mine over 
the planked steak. “You’re a poor sort of liar, 
Pete; you always were, even if an industrious one, 
and you forget I’m a lawyer. Also, my friend, I 
saw what happened on the subway platform.” 

*“Oh, that accident? Was it you who called me? 
There was such a crowd, and you see I fell-” 

“Naturally, after such a shove. It’s no use, 
Pete; I was there and saw the whole thing. Yes, 
I was on my way up here. I couldn’t get near 




180 THE BLACK COMPANY 

you, and the fellow who did it escaped in the 
crowd.” 

“He didn’t mean to shove me; it was an accident, 
or he was drunk.” 

“Neither one nor the other, and you know it. 
Why, when I overhauled you, you almost smashed 
me! You thought I was going to jump you. Some¬ 
body’s after your life, Pete, and you can’t tell me 
anything different. Aside from all else, the way 
you keep looking round as though expecting-” 

“I’m looking at Frean,” I said. “He has just 
come in. I hope he doesn’t land over here.” 

But he did, seeing that I observed him. “Killing 
the fatted calf, eh, Ashton?” he greeted. 

Ashton received him coldly and didn’t ask him 
to join us; nor, naturally, did I. Frean didn’t 
appear to notice this; he draped his elegant person 
over the back of a chair and smiled at us, par¬ 
ticularly at me. There was something very irritating 
in his smile. 

“Lawton’s been having a wonderful time,” he 
continued. “I suppose he has been telling you all 
about it? Romantic rural drama, you know, with 
me for the villain of the piece. Only for me, he’d 
still be down in Sea Bright washing automobiles 
and paying court to the cook. I turned up at the 
wrong time.” 

“I thought,” said I, keeping my temper, “you’d 



AT THE ADMIRAL 1S1 

have spread the joyful news of my being alive. 
It seems you didn’t. I wonder why?” 

“Why should I ?” he asked blandly. “I’m not 
your press agent, no, nor your conscience either. 
It wouldn’t have been a very friendly act to set 
the police after you. I knew you’d give yourself 
up; better late than never. I don’t suppose you’re 
hiding here, eh ? Oh, no offense, Lawton; don’t 

get excited now, it’s so dangerous for a man of 

your build. I’m afraid you’ll have a stroke some 

day. Well, cheerio; I’ve got to amble. Sorry I 
can’t partake of the fatted calf.” 

“Rotter!” muttered Ashton, as Frean smiled him¬ 
self off. “It’s clear he doesn’t believe your car was 
stolen, so I didn’t say anything about your satis¬ 
factory interview with the district attorney. Let 

him find it out for himself; it’ll make him mad. 
He never liked you, Pete, even at college. I’ve al¬ 
ways felt that.” 

“I suppose he didn’t, and yet I hardly knew him.” 

“No, but he knew you, of course. That little 
set of decadent highbrows he flocked with had no 
use for Brokaw Field; they were jealous of any 
reputation made there. There’s a set like that at 
every university, more’s the pity; fake highbrows 
who pretend to scoff at athletics, fake high priests 
of culture. He has turned out just what I ex¬ 
pected.” 

“I’m sorry for his people, yes, and for him too. 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


182 

I mean, Tommy, I know what it is to have too 
much money; believe me, it’s worse than having 
too little. Oh, I don’t mean in a physical sense; 
but if you aren’t mighty careful, it rots you body 
and soul. I’ve been through it and you haven’t. 
I think Frean’s people are to blame in a way; they 
shouldn’t have allowed him all that dough-” 

“You’re too soft, Pete. I’ve tried to help Frean 
but I’m through, like all his friends, and you are 
too, if you’ve any sense. Cut him out; he’s a total 
loss. I haven’t even words to waste on him, for 
I want to hear about this enemy who’s trying to 
measure you for a wooden kimono. Who is it? 
Come, out with it!” 

“I’d rather not, Tommy, if you don’t mind. Of 
course, it isn’t a question of not trusting you or 
anything like that; aside from all else, I don’t want 
you to get mixed up in it. It isn’t any little simple 
affair—no, I won’t tell you-” 

But I did; I had to. He gave me no peace until 
I had told him practically everything. Ashton was 
like that, pertinacious and dogged; he would have 
stuck to' me all night, canceled his Philadelphia 
engagement, until he had got the truth out of me. 
Nor was it simply curiosity on his part, though 
he had seen and guessed so much that he was 
dying to hear all; no, he had a very real regard 
for me and wished to be of service. After all, 
I couldn’t have had a better adviser; he was junior 



AT THE ADMIRAL 


183 

member of a noted criminal law firm and well 
on the way to making a name for himself. All 
the same I didn’t want to tell him. 

“Well, that’s the queerest thing I ever heard, 
and I’ve heard some queer things in my time,” he 
said as I finished. “The Black Company! No 
relation, I suppose, to Conan Doyle’s 'White Com¬ 
pany ?’ ” 

“I knew you’d laugh, Tommy, but-” 

“I’m not laughing; not a bit of it. But if I 
hadn’t actually seen that fellow shove you—and 
at that I never got a good look at him. I think 
I was the only one who saw him do what he did. 
What sort of a combine is it?' And the Black 
King! It must be some political conspiracy, not 
necessarily against America. I mean actively. For 
instance, there may be a plot brewing to put a new 
ruler on one of the tottering thrones of Europe; 
they’re all pretty wabbly these days. And, of 
course, if wind of this plot got known—you see 
it may mean a new ally for the Central Powers-” 

“I’ve thought of all that, but Varney could have 
nothing to do with it.” 

“You never can tell; he’s living at Sea Bright and 
that’s Washington, you may say, for the next 
three months. Every political adventurer will make 
it his stamping ground. Intrigue is in the air; 
everybody seems to be engaged in it and the country 
is overrun with secret agents. It may not be a 




184 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


coincidence that this summer Varney should be a 
neighbor of President Wilson. No, you can’t tell, 
Pete; he may have more interest in world politics 
than you or any one imagines. Why, if Pm not 
mistaken, his brother has some political job. This 
alleged disease may be only a blind, something to 
keep him under cover-” 

“I don’t believe Varney has anything to do with 
the Black Company; I mean he’s not a member 
but a potential victim, though I don’t know in what 
way.” 

“And yet he’s intimate with Frean who, you say, 
is a member?” 

“Yes, on probation—according to the man Corby. 
You see I really know nothing for certain; I can’t 
find out anything. It’s all guesswork, but after 
those two attempts on my life I can’t think the 
thing a joke; at least I fail to see the humor. 
The whole thing is so bizarre that the police would 
only laugh at me; you know they would. I haven’t 
any real evidence to give them.” 

Ashton nodded and fell silent. “You were wise 
in keeping this to yourself,” he said at length. “I 
understand why you didn’t want to tell even me. 
Of course it won’t get past me. But it’s far too 
big a thing for any amateur handling; it may prove 
bigger even than we suspect. And we’ve got to 
do something, Pete. Now there’s only one man to 
handle a case like this—Lisping Jimmie.” 



AT THE ADMIRAL 


185 


“I agree with you. He's the very man I had 
in mind from the first, the only man I meant to 
tell. I've got the money and can give him a free 
hand till the cows come home. That’s one ad¬ 
vantage of wealth." 

“Well, see him first thing to-morrow," said Ash¬ 
ton with decision. “I would say to-night only that 
I happen to know he’s in Washington and won’t 
be home till to-morrow. See him as soon as you 
can. Meanwhile I’ll see what I can find out in 
Philly. As it turns out, it’s a providential thing 
that I’ve got to go there to-night, that I met you 
and had this talk. You drew blank in Philly, 
but I should have better luck; I mean that I’m 
educated to the investigating business and you aren’t. 
I think I’ll be able to find out something for Blunt 
to work on, put him that much ahead of the 
game." 

“Well, for Heaven’s sake, be careful, Tommy! 
You don’t know these fellows. I’d much rather 
you stood out of it; I do indeed-’’ 

“Rats!" laughed Ashton. “I’ve legitimate business 
there and they’ll never suspect me. Anyway, I’m 
a match for these cowardly highbinders. You’ll 



CHAPTER XIV 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 


HE following morning found me in the offices 



**• of the Blunt Detective Agency. James Blunt, 
popularly known the length and breadth of the land 
as “Lisping Jimmie,” represented the best criminal- 
investigaton talent in the market, and I knew that 
I would need the best. At heart I didn’t believe 
that Ashton would be able to learn any more than 
I had. Blunt, however, would. 

It was the first time I had met him, though I 
had followed his record, like every one else, since 
he first leaped into fame as a headquarters “bull” 
in the old Mulberry Street days. Since then he had 
further gilded his name, and incidentally his pocket, 
in a dozen famous cases, and the reputation of the 
private agency he had established was so high that 
its services were even enlisted for difficult govern¬ 
ment jobs. 

Naturally, such talent did not stoop to picayune 
cases, nor were its fees picayune, either; James 
Blunt was the foremost specialist in moral diseases 
of society, and entitled to a specialist’s prices, yet 
he wasn’t mercenary. 

Many stories have been woven round his remark- 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 187 

able personality—among others, that his name was 
assumed, and that he had left Yale under romantic 
circumstances—but what undoubtedly endeared him 
to the man in the street was the fact that his human¬ 
ity was as big as his intellect, that love for his 
profession took precedence over all else, and that 
he had handled many a case for nothing. If you 
were in a hole without a red cent, and your wail 
reached the quick ears of Lisping Jimmie, he would 
pull you out for nothing. Another fact was—and 
undoubtedly this was responsible for his great and 
continued success—he took a hand personally in 
every case, and worked as hard as any of his op¬ 
eratives. 

Even now, when his reputation and fortune 
were made, he didn’t content himself with lying 
back in a chair and throwing orders at subordinates. 
I knew then that the difficult business of the Black 
Company would be cleaned up as quickly as pos¬ 
sible, and that if he couldn’t do it, none could. 

“Before I begin, Mr. Blunt,” I said, after intro¬ 
ducing myself, “I want you to believe that, no 
matter what you may have heard about me, what 
I’m about to relate can’t be charged to the account 
of John Barleycorn. In the vernacular, however 
bizarre or fantastic it may seem, it’s not the dream 
of a booze fighter. If we start with that under¬ 
standing, we’ll get on much better.” 

He removed his nose glasses—I had heard they 


188 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


didn’t magnify, and that his vision was really 
hawklike—and rubbed them with a pale heliotrope 
silk handkerchief that matched his scarf and socks. 
I had already verified the story that his dress was 
fastidious and exquisite. For the rest there was 
nothing of the traditional sleuth about him. He 
looked just the sort of average, clean-cut, successful 
young business man you see everywhere. His eyes 
were remarkably far apart, and with the pro¬ 
nounced lumps over them which are supposed to 
denote the calculating faculty, while in his manner 
there was a hint of languor and affectation which 
I knew to be characteristic. 

“Mr. Lawton,” he replied, with a faint, pleasing 
smile, and the peculiar lisp that had earned him 
his nickname, and which I needn’t attempt to re¬ 
produce, “you can’t say anything in the bizarre 
line too strong for me. After fifteen years’ experi¬ 
ence I’ve come to the conclusion, like some investi¬ 
gators in other lines, that in this world nothing 
is impossible. As for the rest, whatever popular 
legend may say of your thirst, I should give it as 
my opinion, if appearance goes for anything, that 
you haven’t overindulged it for at least three weeks.” 

“That’s quite true,” I said. “Of course, you’ve 
seen the morning papers, so I needn’t explain where 
I’ve been for those three weeks. But there’s 
another news item to which I wish to draw your 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 189 

attention—that of the unknown man who was nearly 
killed last evening by a subway express.” 

“Yes, I saw it. Supposed to be a would-be suicide 
who repented providentially at the last moment, or 
the victim of an accident. So you were that man, 
and it was a deliberate play for your life? Oh, 
yes, it’s an old dodge, but safe if pulled off right.” 

It was a comfort to meet an intellect that marched 
ahead instead of trailing behind; that made its own 
swift, unerring deductions, instead of asking a lot 
of long-winded questions; that could believe without 
having chapter, verse, and argument. 

“Have you ever heard,” I said, “of an organiza¬ 
tion calling itself the Black Company? A body 
of presumably sane men, representing such a fan¬ 
tastic idea as the black chessmen, who are known 
to one another as bishops, pawns, and so forth, 
and who even correspond by means of a secret code 
compiled from imaginary chess games? There’s 
something bizarre for you, Mr. Blunt. And yet 
it was a member of such an organization that 
made the play for my life last night. Don’t ask 
me how I know. I haven’t a shred of evidence, 
yet I’m absolutely sure of it.” 

At first mention of the secret society, I noticed 
that the rather sleepy look departed from Mr. 
Blunt’s eyes. “Dear me,” he said mildly, “this 
promises to be a bit interesting. I’m something 
of a chess crank myself.” 


190 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


He pushed a button under his desk, and to a 
long-nosed man who entered said briskly: ‘The 
evidence in the Joe Turner and Andy Quigg cases, 
Fleming. Oh, yes, and the Isaac Goldmann affair.” 

Fleming disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared 
again like a phantom, the only evidence of his 
movements being a loose-leaf volume which he left 
at his employer’s elbow. 

“Now for your story, Mr. Lawton,” said Blunt, 
and I opened up and told everything. I related 
every little incident from the time I left Princeton 
on that crazy ride, to the moment of my entering 
Blunt’s office. I made a secret of nothing, for I 
even related what Hannay had told me about my 
father and Mr. Varney. 

If I am ordered to build a bridge or construct 
a dam, I don’t expect some of the blue prints to 
be held out on me, and that was the way I felt 
about this. I was engaging a master workman, 
and if I wanted results, it was up to me to see 
he had all the specifications. I think I told the 

whole thing in as few words as possible, for he 
never asked a question, merely taking several notes 
in shorthand as I went along. 

“Now, that’s absolutely all of it,” I finished, 

“and here’s the note I got from Corby and the two 
code messages. I won’t be springing some all- 

important fact on you at the eleventh hour, and I 
don’t think for a minute I can teach you your 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 191 

business any more than you can teach me mine. 
I’m not here to obstruct, but to help, if I can, and 

I’ll take orders, not give them. Finally, I’m not 

out for revenge on anybody, even Frean, and if 

the whole thing can be kept quiet, so much the 

better. If there’s a criminal gang after Varney 
I want it squelched, that’s all, and I don’t care 
w r hat money or personal effort I spend in doing it.” 

“Mr. Lawton,” he said dryly, “any time you 
think of giving up the engineering profession and 
want another job, come to me. I don’t distribute 
compliments idly, but I say that of the many people 
who have tried at various times to teach me my 
business, you certainly would be the most qualified. 
As a ’ client, your brevity, clearness, candor, and 
grasp of essential detail have been a refreshing 
surprise, while your whole conduct of this case 
has been very creditable indeed. Your only mistake 
was in saying anything to Mr. Scallon and this 
friend of yours.” 

“I couldn’t get out of telling Ashton; he saw 
that affair in the subway. He is to be trusted 
absolutely. I’ve known him since prep school days, 
and can answer for his character and ability. He’s 
as sharp, close, and true as a wolf trap.” 

“Well, that’s something, and I’m inclined to be¬ 
lieve you’re a pretty good judge of character.” 

“As for Scallon, I wasn’t taking any chances 


192 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


and so I didn’t say a word about the Black Com¬ 
pany. I was afraid he might pass it on unwittingly.” 

“Yes, but, of course, you see the whole point 
is this: that though you didn’t say anything about 
the Black Company, you did ask a lot of questions 
about Mr. Varney. You may have been overheard, 
and they could put two and two together, especially 
if they knew you’d been to the hospital asking 
about Joyce. Up to that point I believe you may 
have succeeded in disarming suspicion to a great 
extent; they didn’t know if you were really harm¬ 
less or dangerous. Once they were sure that you 
were dangerous, they tried to short circuit you 
before you could use your money and information 
against them, and they’ll keep on trying for revenge 
if nothing else.” 

“Yes, I suppose they will. Then you really know 
something about this secret society?” 

“It has been suspected for some time that such 
an organization existed, but up to the present our 
only grounds for suspicion lay in these three cases,” 
picking up the loose-leaf volume from his desk. 
“And by ‘we’ I mean not only this agency, but 
the police departments of New York, Philadelphia, 
and Boston. All three cases happened in these three 
cities, and within the past two years. The first 
was that of a young medical student called Turner; 
shot and killed one night in Broad Street, Phila¬ 
delphia. Assailant unknown. Last conscious words 


193 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 

were: ‘The Black Company.' Here, then, is the 
first and last mention we have of that name. The 
second case happens six months later in Beacon 
Street, Boston, and at night also. A saloon keeper 
named Andy Quigg is stabbed through the lungs, 
and expires in the arms of a policeman, murmuring 
‘The King’s Rook’s Pawn.’ The third and last 
case happens here one night last winter, on Fourth 
Avenue. Jewish rabbi, name of Isaac Goldmann, 
garroted on returning home from the synagogue. 
Found on him was a typewritten chess game in 
the algebraic notation, and a half-defaced phrase 

running: ‘This is the secret code of-’ Some 

policeman very obligingly destroyed this paper as 
unimportant before I had a chance to see it.” 

Mr. Blunt replaced the book on the desk and 
went on: “Now, here we have three victims in 
three different walks of life, in three cities, and 
of widely different ages—a young medical student, 
a middle-aged saloon keeper, and an old rabbi. In 
no case was robbery the motive, nor would the 
personal histories of these three men seem to sug¬ 
gest their being mixed up with criminals in any 
way. Of the three, certainly not Rabbi Goldmann, 
who was something of an idol among his people on 
the East Side. Turner belonged to a rich family, 
while Quigg was prosperous and respectable. Noth¬ 
ing was ever discovered by the police that would 
throw any light on these three murders. 



194 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“You understand,” he finished, “that those three 
were distinctively police cases, and that this is the 
first time I’ve had a case dealing with the Black 
Company. I may say that the police have little 
if any belief that such an organization exists, and, 
lacking all evidence, in face of six months’ silence, 
I was beginning to think I had attached, privately, 
too much significance to those three cases, when 
you now walk in and confirm all my suspicions.” 

“You agree with me, then, that it’s a criminal 
organization, not politico-social or connected in any 
way with this Prussian propaganda, but simply out 
for profit?” 

“In the main, yes. But I know no more about 
it than you. They may employ everything, from 
blackmail to burglary—though not of the crude 
variety. It is clear that they are rich, powerful, 
clever, and utterly unscrupulous. We know of these 
three murders. But how many more have’ occurred 
—the sort of "accident’ that happened to you last 
night? They are not a band of ordinary thugs. 
And so,” he added gravely, "‘you’re a marked man, 
Mr. Lawton. You’ve kicked up an invaluable find 
at great peril to yourself. You have discovered 
and solved their secret code, and you know three of 
their members. They haven’t prevented you from 
delivering that information, but I warn you they 
will try to take it out of your hide. I’ll get you 
a permit to pack a gun, and detail a man to shadow 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 195 

you. You won’t like it, I know, but lack of pre¬ 
caution or foolhardiness is only playing the other 
fellow’s game. 

“Now,” he continued, “you might have saved 
yourself that trip to the hospital for it was a fore¬ 
gone conclusion that Joyce wouldn’t tell a story that 
could be so easily disproved. That fellow at Var¬ 
ney’s is the real Joyce, and his stay in the hospital 
accounts for you being able to take his place for 
so long. He was out of his head for a week, and 
therefore couldn’t notify his superiors what had 
happened, and they naturally thought he was on 
the job. As soon as he was able, he put them 
wise, and so for at least a week they knew you 
were an impostor. That explains why you got no 
more code messages, and why Corby told you noth¬ 
ing further. I don’t pretend to understand the 
fact of Joyce and you being robbed by the same 
party; it may be no more than a coincidence, or 
it may mean the entrance of a complicating factor 
—some enemy of the secret society, though that 
doesn’t explain his attack on you. We must follow 
that line, try to discover the man’s identity. Un¬ 
fortunately the remains are useless for that pur¬ 
pose. In general appearance, of course, he resembled 
you, but can you add some definite detail ?” 

“Yes. I noticed a striking deformity. As he 
pointed out the imaginary lights of New York with 
his left hand—he had the crank in his right ready 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


196 

to wallop me—I saw that it had six fingers, or, 
more correctly, five and a thumb. Now, I also saw 
that night more than one moon in the sky, yet 
I’m sure about this extra finger; it was rudimentai^ 
and as if stuck on to the little one. That hand 
must have been cut to pieces in the accident, or 
it would have proved that the victim wasn’t Peter 
Lawton.” 

“Yes, he was so badly mangled that we’ll never 
be able to prove that extra finger. All the same, 
and despite your confession as to the abnormal 
number of moons, this is a valuable item. Now,” 
switching the conversation suddenly to another sub¬ 
ject, “what do you know about this friend of yours, 
Howard Roupell? Why was he at the station?” 

“He told me he had come to meet a friend who 
hadn’t turned up.” I then added that Roupell was 
no more than an acquaintance, one of the many 
I had made six months ago. “I really know very 
little about him except that he’s a retired broker 
and man about town. One of the kind you may 
meet for years and never know any better. He’s 
a member of one of my clubs, and goes in a bit 
for first nights, the bottle, and bridge. Of course 
he can’t have anything to do with this business; 
a genial old Falstaff, if a bit of a bore, and about 
the last person you’d think of being mixed up with 
murder and sudden death.” 

“You never can tell,” said Mr. Blunt, with his 


197 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 

faint, pleasing smile. “Superfluous flesh is a great 
asset to malefactors. If you want to be a really 
successful crook, you must first feed up, for no 
jury likes to convict a fat man. They can’t believe 
he’s really so bad as he’s painted. Of course, Mr. 
Roupell didn’t shove you in front of that train, but 
he may have deputed a pawn to do so. I’ve an 
idea that in this agreeable organization the pawns 
do all the actual dirty work, until, as in the game 
of chess, they reach the eighth file and are pro¬ 
moted ; then they become a capital piece, with a 
pawn of their own to direct. Perhaps they are 
advanced a square according to a certain number 
of successful enterprises. Who knows? Mean¬ 
while we’ll take a run down to Center Street and 
see if you can recognize anybody in the gallery. 
It’s better than my private collection.” 

Although, for the sake of clearness, I have given 
our dialogue in sequence, it was really broken up 
into brief lisping sentences, and had frequent inter¬ 
ruptions. Lisping Jimmie wasn’t given to rounded 
periods, and, moreover, had a trick of leaving 
phrases unfinished. You had to march ahead with 
him, grasp the conclusion which he considered 
obvious, or be left in a hopeless muddle; and 
while he talked he worked. The long-nosed phan¬ 
tom, Fleming, was out and in the room constantly, 
taking the briefest but clearest orders. When we 
left to visit the rogues’ gallery, trailed by a couple 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


198 

of operatives to see if any one followed us, the 
efficiency machinery of the famous agency had been 
set in motion against the enemy. 

It did not need Blunt’s reminder to convince 
me that the task set us was no easy one, and might 
consume months. The securing of the necessary 
evidence against such an astute and cunning organ¬ 
ization as this had shown itself to be would require 
infinite patience and caution, as well as enterprise. 
Obviously, it wasn’t a simple matter of arresting 
Joyce, Corby, and Frean out of hand; even if we 
had the authority, based on the proper evidence, 
that would be only scotching the tail of the venom¬ 
ous reptile. 

“What we want are the men higher up,” said 
Blunt. “Of course, they’re warned now. It’s an 
even chance that they know of your visit to me. 
In that case they may abandon whatever game 
they’re up to with Mr. Varney.” 

“Do you know anything of this peculiar disease 
of his?” I asked. “I mean, could the symptoms 
of Bronze Skin be produced by artificial means, say 
some chemical?” 

“I don’t think so, but that’s one of the things 
we’ll have to find out. We must follow every 
line.” 

Naturally I didn’t like the idea of Mr. Varney’s 
past being probed, but there was no help for it. 
The greatest puzzle was why Joyce should have 


199 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 

been installed in the house, what connection there 
was between Varney and the Black Company. I 
was convinced it was a wholly innocent one on 
his part, that he was a prospective victim, but 
Blunt was taking nothing for granted. He meant 
to investigate everything and everybody. 

“Your theory that they’re attempting his life 
by some subtle poison which gives the symptoms 
of Addison’s disease is ingenious,” he said. “He 
first developed it in Philadelphia, you say, the 
reputed headquarters of the society. And it would 
explain Joyce’s presence if the poison had to be 
constantly administered. Yes, it’s ingenious, but 
not sound, for it doesn’t explain Frean’s or Corby’s 
part. No, we have yet to find the key move to 
this problem.” 

“In that code message what does it mean by 
‘Varney moves on second?’ Has it a hidden mean¬ 
ing, or are we to take it literally? It may mean 
any square from king’s rook’s to queen’s rook’s 
second—any one of eight squares. Is something 
to happen on that particular square? I’ve racked 
my brains but I can’t get any meaning out of it.” 

“It may mean a date.” 

“But Varney isn’t going to move anywhere on 
the second; he’s booked there for the summer. 
Anyway, that’s one thing they don’t know—that 
I found that message.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Blunt. 


200 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“It’s hard to say what they know or don’t know. 
They seem to have an excellent spy system. How 
long is your friend, Mr. Ashton, staying in Phila¬ 
delphia ?” 

“Two or three days.” 

“Oh!” said Lisping Jimmie, and I caught a rather 
queer look in his eyes, which I was to remember 
later. 

Our visit to the gallery was a distinct failure. 
I scrutinized profiles and full faces of every con¬ 
ceivable type, until I was almost dizzy, but in no 
case could I identify one as that of Joyce or 
Corby. Curiously enough, the only photo that 
stirred my memory had nothing to do with that 
worthy couple. “See here,” I said, pointing it out. 
“If this fellow had a mustache, he’d look like the 
one that stole my car. At least, he reminds me 
of him. He had a hook nose and bushy brows 
like that.” 

“I’m not familiar with his map,” said Blunt. 
“H’m, Charlie Banks, doing time for grand larceny, 
eh? I’ll have to look Charlie up.” 

“By George!” I exclaimed. “Supposing it was 
a false mustache? Look here, I haven’t told you 
about that; I thought, of course, I’d only imagined 
the thing. I thought it was impossible, like all 
those moons I saw. But, apart from those moons, 
I seem to have observed things pretty accurately 
that night. Now when I found this fellow cranking 


I CONSULT LISPING JIMMIE 


201 


my car-” And I explained about the wonder¬ 

ful automatic mustache that was capable of in¬ 
telligent self-movement. 

As I finished, an official came in—I learned after¬ 
ward that he was head of the detective bureau— 
and nodded familiarly to my companion. “Heard 
there’s been a murder over in Philly,” he said at 
length laconically. “New Yorker by the name of 
Ashton. Beats hell how business keeps up.” 



CHAPTER XV 
A week’s events 

A WEEK had passed since the tragic death of 
Ashton, a week that dragged interminably, and 
which to me was one of the bitterest and most 
miserable I had ever known. The relief experienced 
at finding myself innocent of the Red Bank fatality 
—I had been fully exonerated in the press, thanks 
to the man Taylor and Mr. Varney—was short¬ 
lived, for I had merely exchanged one burden for 
another. I accounted myself indirectly responsible 
for the foul murder of one of my best friends, 
a friend for whom I would have laid down my own 
life, if need be. I remembered now Blunt’s queer 
expression when I said Ashton would be home in 
a few days. Little did I think at the time of the 
tragic manner of that homecoming. 

Poor Tommy Ashton and his boast that he was 
a match for such cowardly enemies! How strange 
and awful to think that but a few weeks ago he 
was attending the burial service over what was 
thought to be my mangled remains, and that now 
I should be the mourner and he, in truth, the corpse! 
It was one of the incomprehensible and ironic 
tragedies of life. How I wished now, when too 


A WEEK’S EVENTS 


203 


late, that I had stuck to my intention of telling him 
nothing about the Black Company; and yet, looking 
back on it all, I hardly see how I could have done 
it. As Blunt said, it seemed to be one of those 
things that are just bound to happen. I had not 
wanted to offend Ashton, and even if I had kept 
silent at the risk of our friendship, in all likelihood 
the result would have been the same. 

“I expected something like this,” said Blunt. “I 
believed him to be in as great peril as you yourself, 
but I didn’t wish to alarm you. I could do very 
little, for you didn’t know his address. I wired 
Philadelphia headquarters to look him up at all 
the hotels and keep an eye on him, but it was too 
late. Of course, there isn’t a shred of evidence 
to show that the Black Company is responsible, but 
I think we are safe in assuming that. They meant 
to bag him as well as you. Now, you mustn’t take 
this too hard, or start brooding over it. As I 
say, it isn’t what you told him, but what they 
took for granted you told him. You were seen 
with him-” 

“Yes, by Frean. And, by Heaven, if he’s re¬ 
sponsible-” 

“Steady now; we don’t know that he is, so don’t 
do anything rash if you happen to meet him. You 
won’t for the present, unless you go out of your 
way, for he has returned to Sea Bright.” 

Blunt then told me that he had verified what 




204 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


I had learned about Mr. Fremstad and Joyce. “An¬ 
other foregone conclusion,” he said. “They work 
through innocent and respectable people. That ac¬ 
cident which made Mr. Fremstad give up motoring 
could have been engineered by Joyce if need be. 
Anyway, he leaves with the best credentials. Taken 
with the downfall of Jules, it looks undoubtedly, as 
you said, as if there had been a carefully thought- 
out and long-matured plot to plant Joyce with 
Varney. Jules has disappeared, but we’re looking 
him up to find who helped him off the water wagon 
in Philadelphia. It was Corby, for all his butter¬ 
milk diet, who continued the good work in Sea 
Bright. That’s the report of the operative covering 
him. Another of my men has taken the place of 
.Williams, the gardener.” 

“If they had nothing to fear from Mr. Fremstad 
and Joyce being investigated, the one being innocent 
and the other having been actually a patient in the 
Charity Hospital, why was poor Ashton killed?” 

“But we don’t know what line he was following,” 
replied Blunt. “I think it’s fairly obvious that 
he must have hit on evidence of some kind not 
connected with Fremstad, or, necessarily, Joyce, 
which made his removal compulsory. What took 
him to that low quarter of the town? If we knew 
all that happened from the time he left his hotel 
to the finding of his remains in that back alley in 
Chinatown, we’d know a lot. I believe that Rabbi 


A WEEK’S EVENTS 


205 


Goldmann was put out of the way for the same 
reason—stumbling on incriminating evidence. But 
in your friend’s case it was no accident; he got 
what he went after—some of it, anyway—but he 
wasn’t allowed to get away with it.” 

Mr. Blunt then urged me again to have patience. 
“Don’t think I’m trying to hog this thing; I’m 
working hand in hand with the police of half a 
dozen cities. I know you’re ready to spend your 
whole fortune to avenge your friend, but all the 
money in the world couldn’t hurry matters. Criminal 
investigation isn’t what you read about in some 
books; against an organization like this it isn’t a 
one-man job, but the slow forging of a chain, link 
by link, by many hands. All that it is possible to 
do is being done, and you may rest assured of 
that. Remember that a gun that goes off at half 
cock seldom hits anything. Finally, the 'sort of 
detective that has marvelous bursts of inspiration 
and can tell from the way your hair is parted 
what you had for breakfast, has no counterpart 
in real life. Whatever stories have been told about 
me, and which may have given you an exaggerated 
idea of my ability, success never came to me except 
through hard work and the application of some 
intelligence. There’s no royal road nor short cut 
in my business, Mr. Lawton, any more than there 
is in your own or others.” 

This common-sense talk did me a lot of good, for 


206 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


I was getting captious, and in the mood for demand¬ 
ing miracles. So I apologized for the impatience 
I had shown, and asked if there wasn’t something 
I could do to help, aside from spending money 
hiring other fellows to do the work. 

“Yes,” said Lisping Jimmie promptly, “it would 
help a lot if you took a vacation in Timbuktu until 
this thing’s cut and dried. No, I don’t mean you’re 
a nuisance; far from it. I mean it would relieve 
me to know you were out of harm’s way. I know 
you won’t go, but I assure you it would be the 
best and wisest thing to do. You can’t take an 
active hand in the game because you’re known.” 

“I’m in no more danger than, say, you yourself. 
No, I can’t run away. It’s not that I’m a hero, 
but if I’m not able to take an active part I simply 
have to stick around and see what’s doing. I 
can’t help it.” 

I don’t pretend that I found any keen enjoyment 
in the idea that some one was gunning for me, 
and that I had only escaped so far by the exercise 
of vigilance and precaution. When I walked abroad 
I carried an automatic pistol slung, according to 
Blunt’s advice, in a holster under my left arm 
beneath my coat. 

Drawing it was a matter of a second, but it was 
quite a different matter whether I could hit anything 
short of the Woolworth Building, for I hadn’t 
been brought up with firearms. I had misgivings 


A WEEK’S EVENTS 


207 


about the weapon, especially when sticking the clip 
of cartridges in the handle—queer place to load 
a gun—and I always made dead sure that the 
safety catches were on the job. My idea would have 
been a thick blackthorn, something I could take a 
good swipe with, and be sure of getting home, but 
I must admit the pistol gave me quite a martial 
feeling and desperadolike air. 

I was shepherded, too, like any ewe lamb, a novel 
experience for one who has had a long tussle 
single-handed with the world. One of the agency’s 
men was on hall service in the Belvedere, while 
another picked me up and kept me in sight wherever 
1 went. 

This last was a little, ferret-eyed person called 
Nast, who looked like a broken-down old-clothes 
man; he was a painstaking and conscientious dis¬ 
ciple, and as hard to get rid of as a bad name. 
More than once I tried to shake him, for mere 
diversion’s sake, but he always turned up like a bad 
penny. I believe he must have been an ex-bill 
collector or process server. 

Of course, my movements were restricted, too; 
I wasn’t to stay out late at night, or go wandering 
off the beaten track. All this proved very irksome, 
and I wished another try would be made for my 
life, if only to justify these measures and help 
break the monotony. 

As the end of the week approached, and nothing 


208 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


happened, I began to think the enemy had cold 
feet, and was scared off. This was supported by 
the news that Frean was back in town. He had 
taken his old quarters at the Marlborough, while 
Corby had disappeared. Blunt wasn’t telling me 
everything, however, and I had an idea Corby 
wasn’t so securely hidden as he may have imagined. 

I was no nearer solving the key move of the 
problem—why Joyce had been “planted” with Mr. 
Varney. The latter’s past had been thoroughly 
raked over, and not a solitary fact was unearthed 
that would go to show him connected in any way 
with the Black Company. Nor, according to medical 
authority, could the symptoms of Addison’s disease 
be approximated by the administration of any known 
poison. Thus another of my theories went by the 
board. 

Meanwhile I had sent Mr. Varney a check, 
amounting to the three weeks’ wages paid me, and 
a formal note thanking him for helping to establish 
my alibi regarding the Red Bank affair. He had 
not appeared in New York, under the plea of ill 
health, but had made a deposition as to the hour 
he had met and talked with me at the crossroads. 
The check which I sent was returned promptly 
with the indorsement, in his neat, crabbed hand¬ 
writing: “The laborer is worthy of his hire.” 

This at least showed less venom toward me, and 
I began to hope I might eventually reach a better 


A WEEK’S EVENTS 


209 


understanding with him, but I knew it would be 
fatal to try to rush matters. Only by the future 
could I wipe out the past unworthy six months 
and show I had ambition to be something more 
than a dissolute moneyed loafer. 

I was working hard with the plans of the en¬ 
gineering school, and the other projects Mr. Hannay 
and I had mapped out, while I was considering 
an offer made by my old employers, Cable & Co., 
to come back as a working partner. So I was 
kept busy. 

If I have said nothing further about the Demon, 
it must not be supposed that he did not trouble 
me any longer, that my victory was sweeping and 
lightly achieved, or that I considered it absolutely 
final. 

By that I mean I could only consider it final 
when, through the process of time and nature, the 
morbid craving left me. An inheritance such as 
mine is not killed instantly by all the poignant 
lessons, all the vows and good resolutions in the 
world. It is a matter of daily, hourly battling, 
of fierce, grueling conflict, of slow but inexorable 
wearing down. Often, when the long day was 
done, I breathed a silent prayer that it found me 
unashamed. 

If I saw little progress in other directions, the 
end of the week at least cleared up the mystery 
about the man who had stolen my car. It was 


210 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


proved beyond all possible doubt that he was the 
“Charlie” Banks whose picture had caught my at¬ 
tention in the rogues’ gallery. It was shown by the 
Bertillon record that his left hand bore the deform¬ 
ity I had mentioned to Blunt. He was the man 
the nurse at the hospital had told me about; he 
had been serving a long sentence in Moyamensing 
and had escaped the night of Joyce’s assault. 

“It simply shows how a case may be complicated 
by the entrance of outside factors,” said Blunt. 
“This fellow had nothing to do with the organiza¬ 
tion we’re after. He robbed Joyce and you simply 
to help his get-away, for he had no money, and 
needed a change of clothes. That mustache was 
a fake, as you suggested, and if he hadn’t been 
smashed to pulp that fact would have been dis¬ 
covered.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 

¥ HAD dropped most of the old crowd—rather, 
* they dropped me, not approving of my new mode 
of life—but that evening, Saturday, I dined with 
Roupell at Sherry’s. It was one of those invitations, 
long standing, you can’t avoid without giving serious 
offense, and I had nothing against the jovial Fal- 
staff. Blunt’s remark that he might be connected 
with the Black Company was simply a haphazard 
one, for all my acquaintances might be open to 
the same suspicion, and I had thought little more 
about it. 

“What!” he exclaimed, visibly affected, when I 
turned down his offer of a drink. “This is a 
staggering blow. Come, surely you’re not going 
to compel me to drink alone? Only one glass, just 
to be sociable.” 

“Not one drop,” I said, though every fiber of me 
was crying out in protest. It was my first big 
temptation, and I set my teeth to meet it. 

“You don’t mean you’ve gone temperance?” he 
asked incredulously. “I heard a tale to that effect, 
but couldn’t believe it. Is it because of that Red 
Bank affair? My dear man, a miss is as good as 


212 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


a mile. Why do penance for something never 

committed ?” 

“No credit to me that it wasn’t. I can never 
forget what might and, by all odds, should have 
happened. No, I won’t take anything, thank you, 
and that’s final.” 

So, still arguing and protesting, he consumed 
his own with such slow and evident relish that I 
could have cracked him over the head. “Sure you 
won’t have a little?” he kept saying every once in 
a while; and then he would squint at his glass 
against the light and smack his lips. 

“If I come through this,” I thought, clenching 
my hands under the table, “I can come through 
anything.” 

“Awfully tragic about poor Ashton,” he remarked 
presently, sighing windily. “Haven’t the police done 
anything yet? Ah, these 'business’ trips! But, 
then, boys will be boys.” 

“You’re entirely wrong if you think he was on 
the., loose,” I said hotly. “I know that some of 
the papers even went so far as to hint at opium 
smoking, but any one who knew Tommy Ashton 
at all-” 

“But consider the circumstances, Lawton. What 
else took him to Chinatown?” 

“He must have had business there.” 

“What kind? Come now, of course it won’t 



SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 


213 


go any farther, but between ourselves we may as 
well admit—eh?” 

I think it was a sudden and transient gleam in 
his cushioned eyes, a mere hint of watchful sus¬ 
picion so startlingly different from his perennial 
jovial twinkle, that acted on me like a douche of 
ice water and stilled my too ready tongue. Per¬ 
haps it was only a trick of the light, but, anyway, 
I found myself regarding Howard Roupell with 
a new interest, while suddenly mindful of Blunt’s 
remarks about superfluous flesh and malefactors. 

For all its indulgent lines, the man’s face was 
powerful in a sense, and I wondered if there was 
a reverse side to the jovial mask—if mask it 
were. On the other hand, he might be as innocent 
and harmless as I had hitherto believed, with no 
ulterior motive in urging me to drink, or in his 
talk about Ashton. The knowledge that a hidden 
and ubiquitous enemy was gunning for me was 
having its inevitable effect, and I was becoming 
suspicious of every one. 

The entrance of Arnold Frean at this point 
changed the conversation. 

“Hello,” said Roupell, “there’s that young scalla- 
wag. Since his father chucked him out he’s more 
affluent than ever. Wonder where he gets it? Tout¬ 
ing, I suppose. Hope he doesn’t see us. You 
know, I’m no Puritan, Lawton, but, between you 


214 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


and me, that’s one fellow I never could stomach. 
There isn’t a straight hair in his head.” 

Being totally bald himself, Roupell never could 
have this criticism passed on him. I refused to 
sit in judgment; and Frean, catching sight of us, 
strolled over. It was our first meeting since that 
night in the Admiral and, thinking of poor Ashton, 
my impulse now was to give Arnold Frean a bit 
of all that was coming to him. If he had not 
actually plotted or participated in Ashton’s death, 
he was at least an associate of those who had. 
But mindful of Blunt’s emphatic request, and that 
a hasty or ill-judged action of mine might ruin 
far-reaching plans of which I knew nothing, I 
forced myself to meet Frean with composure, though 
I could assume no show of cordiality. Roupell’s 
greeting was also chilly, but Frean was neither dis¬ 
couraged nor embarrassed. It took a lot to shake 
his high opinion of himself. 

“Awful crush to-night,” he said. “May I butt in 
here? Thanks!” And he sat down without waiting 
for an assent. I thought he wasn’t looking par¬ 
ticularly well; his face was a bit drawn. He would 
take nothing but mineral water. 

“What!” exclaimed Roupell, as if startled out of 
his dignity and aloofness. “What’s the world 
coming to! You and Lawton both—'two in one 
night! This is an awful shock. Have the two 
of you fallen in love?” 


SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 215 

A faint color tinged Frean’s cheek, while I was 
uncomfortably aware that my own countenance 
wasn’t as impassive as I might have wished. 

“Aha, that’s it!” exclaimed Roupell, giving his 
loud, jovial laugh. “Nothing but the ladies—that 
is, some of ’em—could produce this tremendous 
catastrophe. Sworn off, eh? Till after the honey¬ 
moon, of course. Who are the fortunate fair? 
Let us hope for the plural, that it isn’t a case of 
the old unhappy triangle. I’m afraid, Frean, you 
wouldn’t stand much of a chance against Lawton— 
I mean, the reformed article. Consider his beauty 
and purse, a sort of Apollo-Midas, going in strong 
for temperance and charity.” 

“When I think of marrying, Roupell, I’ll let you 
know first—it would be the simplest way of sending 
out announcements,” yawned Frean. “If I’m not 
drinking, it’s on account of my liver, not my heart.” 
But I saw that Roupell’s words had gone home, 
for Frean glowered at me for a moment, and I 
sensed what Blunt would have called “the entrance 
of an outside complicating factor.” He was in 
love, or near it, with Brenda Gelette. 

“You got off mighty lucky from that Red Bank 
mess,” he sneered presently. “Nothing like being 
rich. How much did it cost you?” 

“More, perhaps, than you would care to pay— 
simply the truth.” 

“You call me a liar?” he cried. 


2 l6 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Here! Remember where you are,” exclaimed 
Roupell. “This is no place to settle differences.” 

“I haven’t called you anything,” I said to Frean, 
“but you’re at liberty to draw your own inference. 
If you think I paid any hush money or tried to 
square the case, you’re mistaken. My innocence 
was established on the facts.” 

“Oh, of course,” he sneered. “You can establish 
anything if you’re rich enough; and that tale about 
your car being stolen was awfully thin.” 

“Well, don’t worry about it,” I said, pushing back 
my chair and determined to keep my temper. “Sorry, 
Roupell, but I have to cut along.” 

“Hold on,” said Frean. “You’ve given me the 
lie, Lawton, and I demand satisfaction. I’ll fight 
you with anything you please, and I know where 
we can go. You can bring along Roupell here to 
see fair play.” 

“I say, that’s hardly in my line, you know,” pro¬ 
tested Roupell. in some distress. “Still, Lawton, 
I’ll be happy to oblige. I think a lesson in manners 
wouldn’t do some one any harm.” 

“Thanks, but I’m not in the business,” I replied. 
“Don’t be an ass, Frean, but go home and cool 
your head. If you’re not drunk, you ought to be.” 

“You’re a rank coward!” 

“Perhaps I am,” I agreed. “Anyway, I refuse to 
quarrel about it.” And I left the room, marveling 
somewhat at my new-found self-control. 


SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 217 

In the cloakroom Roupell said: “That fellow 
needs a good scragging, and you ought to give it 
to him, Lawton. The Lord knows I’m a man of 
peace, but you can’t lie down under that insult. 
Take him up and finish it to-night. I’ll second 
you. If you don’t, he’ll brand you all over town.” 
Falstaff had grown very warlike, perhaps, like his 
prototype, because some one else would be doing 
the actual fighting, and when I signified utter in¬ 
difference about the branding process and refused 
absolutely to do any “scragging,” he was visibly 
affected and seemed quite put out. 

As I walked the few blocks to the Belvedere, 
closely trailed by Nast, I decided that on the fol¬ 
lowing Monday, when I next saw Blunt, I would 
direct his attention to Howard Roupell. 

The next afternoon, while strolling aimlessly down 
the Avenue, one of the Sunday four o’clock throng, 
I met Brenda Gelette. Indeed, we actually collided 
as I turned the corner of the Waldorf. I had 
no idea she was in town, and it was not until I 
had doffed my straw bonnet and was voicing the 
conventional apology that I recognized her. We 
stared at each other for a moment, and I saw 
the angry color mounting to her cheek. 

“Oh, how do—er—you do, Miss Gelette?” I fin¬ 
ished lamely. 

“I—er—do very well, thank you, Mr. Lawton,” 
she mimicked acidly, and marched past me toward 


2 l8 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


my old friend, the maroon de luxe, standing at 
the curb. Joyce was at the wheel. 

Cheered greatly by not receiving the cut direct, 
I turned and overtook her in a stride. “May I have 
a word with you, please ?” 

“No,' you may not,” she said, looking accurately 
through the brim of my hat. “I don’t talk with 
strangers. 5 ’ 

“That’s why I want the privilege of introducing 
myself. 55 

“I don’t desire your acquaintance, thank you.” 

“I’m not offering it. I merely wish the oppor¬ 
tunity of apologizing and explaining some past 
events. 55 

“They are beyond explaining.” 

“Even the worst criminal is permitted to be 
heard in his own defense.” 

Already some curious passing glances had been 
turned on us, and she flushed and bit her lip. 
“You’re taking an unfair advantage of me, 55 she 
protested. “Must I call for help?” 

“Really I don’t need any.” 

“I shall call a policeman if you don’t stop an¬ 
noying me.” 

“It will take the whole force to get rid of me. 
In the words of Ruth—I think it was Ruth— 

‘Whither thou goest- 5 I insist on being heard. 

You cannot be less generous than—well, lots of 
people.” 



SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 


219 


“At least I didn’t think you could be a coward 

and bully- Oh, very well; anything to save a 

street scene.” And she marched toward the car, 
head erect and cheeks crimson. 

“Where to?” I asked, bowing her in. 

She sank back in a corner and smiled wickedly. 
“Oh, that’s entirely for you to say. I have abso¬ 
lutely nothing to do with it.” 

“Claremont,” I said to Joyce, “and go as slow 
as you like.” 

The car moved off, and I had a fleeting glimpse 
of the faithful Nast, supporting a lamp-post in his 
Sunday best, looking unutterable reproaches. I had 
slipped him for once. 

Miss Gelette had lost her momentary calm, and 
was once again indignant. “How dare you!” she 
exclaimed. “If you think I’m going to dine with 
you at the Claremont-” 

“It’s not compulsory. There is music and a 
beautiful view.” 

“I’m not going there at all!” 

“But you are; you said it was for me to decide.” 

“I am not!” 

The car continued up the Avenue. Miss Gelette 
drummed her heels. “I am not!” she repeated. 
“Besides, I can’t leave my uncle for so long. Stop 
the car at once!” 

I did not stop it. 

“Oh, very well,” she said. “You will answer 




220 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


for this—this outrage. You refuse to stop, you 
prevent me by main force from communicating with 
Joyce-” 

“I haven’t.” 

“Well, you will; I know you will.” 

“Certainly. I am absolutely reckless. It wouldn’t 
do you any good to try the speaking tube, anyway. 
Joyce’s morality has been undermined; he has been 
heavily bribed.” 

“How exciting!” she murmured. “Abducted by 
an ex-chauffeur, and what a lovely afternoon it is.” 
She leaned back and eyed the gay, moving panorama 
of the sunlit Avenue through the open windows. 
Her mood had changed; she was resigned. I could 
have asked no better confessional than the town 
car; Joyce was completely shut off, and we were 
alone. 

“Well,” she said at length, “you may begin and 
have it over with. Or haven’t you rehearsed suffi¬ 
ciently ?” 

“I was wondering where to start-” 

“I’m not surprised you find some difficulty.” 

“I suppose I’d better begin by saying how much 
I appreciate what your uncle did for me! If he 
hadn’t corroborated my statement—and I’m sure 
he was entitled-” 

“He could do nothing less, not through any ven¬ 
eration for you, but because he is not in the habit 





221 


SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 

of perjuring himself. He was asked for the truth 
and he told it—quite unlike some people.” 

“Indeed, yes. It is remarkable how some people 
simply cannot tell the truth.” 

“It is,” she said, looking at me. 

“Of course there are occasions when one must 
prevaricate; one is forced into deception. There 
is an excuse-” 

“There was absolutely no excuse for your de¬ 
ception, and you needn’t try to make one up!” 
she interrupted violently. “Oh, yes, it was one of 
your well-known jokes! Something to laugh over 
later with your dissolute friends. Yes, you even 
admitted to Joyce it was the result of a drunken 
wager! Oh, the shame of it! I wonder how you 
can sit there and laugh-” 

“But I’m not laughing.” 

“You are!” 

“Then my face isn’t telling the truth.” 

“I’m not surprised.” 

“Really, I’m not laughing. Far from it. I tell 
you I never felt more solemn or full of weighty 
reproaches in my life. In the first place I ask 
you to consider my inheritance. Understand that 
I’m not trying to shelter myself behind that; but 
I overheard you say one day something to Mr. 
Varney regarding it which showed you could under¬ 
stand and, perhaps, sympathize a little. I ask for 
that understanding now.” 




222 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“I think you have always had it.” Her eyes 
softened, but she added uncompromisingly: “Well, 
does that explain and excuse everything?” 

“No, I didn’t mean that it should. I’m merely 
leading up to what lay behind that wager with Mr. 
Hewitt. On his part it was not unworthy. It was 
an effort at my reformation, and, when I was in 
a position to realize it, I determined to profit by 
it. I assure you it meant a great deal more than 
the winning of a wager; it meant the winning back 
of my manhood and self-respect. It meant the battle 
of my life, and, if I lost it, Peter Lawton would 
remain ‘dead’ for all time. My surroundings helped 
me greatly; I was working once more for my living, 
spending only what I earned, and I was cut off 
from friends I could well afford to do without. Nor 
can I estimate your unconscious influence and that 
of Mr. Varney. The promise I gave you that day 
was not given in jest, something to laugh over 
later with my friends. It meant the turning point 
in my life, the life of the previous six months. 
I have kept that promise faithfully, and shall do 
so to the end, God helping me. To sum up, con¬ 
sider a man fighting for his soul, and therefore 
throwing everything into the scale.” 

She turned away suddenly and looked out of the 
window. “I—I think you might have told me,” 
she said over her shoulder. 

As I had promised Blunt to say nothing to any 


SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES 223 

one about the Black Company, I had to leave all 
reference to it out of my present argument. “How 
could I tell you?” I replied. “You know it could 
only have meant my instant dismissal. I knew 
your uncle hated my people, but I didn’t know the 
reason. I assure you, also, I was ignorant of the 
Red Bank matter. That had absolutely nothing 
to do with my maintaining the role of Joyce.” 

“To do my uncle and me justice, we never 
thought it had,” she said. “We knew, though 
Mr. Frean didn’t, that you couldn’t have been in 
Red Bank at that hour, considering the hour we 
met you at the crossroads. And if there had been 
any trouble proving your innocence, we would have 
offered our evidence unasked. Resentment or ani¬ 
mosity never obscured my uncle’s sense of justice. 
And I will say I never actually believed you were 
aware of the family history which caused that re¬ 
sentment and animosity. I myself knew nothing 
about it till my uncle told me the other day. Do 
you know now?” 

I replied that Mr. Hannay had informed me. 
“As I have enough sins of my own to answer for,” 
I added, “I ask not to be blamed too much for 
what my parents may have done. To put it 
baldly, they jilted Mr. Varney and your mother, 
and none too delicately either. I quite understand 
why Mr. Varney and you, too, for that matter, 
should have a particular aversion for me.” 


224 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


The car had turned into Seventy-second Street 
from Broadway, and we were speeding up the 
Drive. 

“Then you credit me with a very narrow mind. 
There is excuse for my uncle; he was affected im¬ 
mediately and has brooded over it. If I were in 
his place I would have probably taken it the same 
way—if I didn’t kill your father, which would 
be more to my notion. On the other hand, if I 
loved like your parents and was in the same situa- 
ation, I should very likely follow their example. 
We don’t know how we may act under certain cir¬ 
cumstances, so what’s the good of trying to judge 
others? No, that ancient family history had no 
part in my 'particular aversion’ for you, nor could 
it. I only thought you treated me personally pretty 
shabbily—and I’m not at all sure yet that you 
didn’t. 

“Of course,” she went on, before I could reply, 
“it is very flattering to think I was of any assistance 
at all in the terrible struggle you were having. 
And I quite realize now the nature of that strug¬ 
gle, all you suffered-” 

We had reached the Claremont, and she arose 
to enter a final protest. But a few minutes later 
we were seated at a table in a quiet corner. 

“Well, cerainly this is the last thing I expected!” 
she exclaimed. “You are a singularly overbearing 
person, Mr. Lawton.” 



CHAPTER XVII 


AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 

\ 7ERY soon I learned that Mr. Varney and 
* she were stopping at the Waldorf. They had 
come up the previous day on “business/’ which in¬ 
cluded a visit to a famous specialist, and she had 
been on the way to call on friends when I abducted 
her. 

“And what does the famous specialist say?” 

For answer she made a hopeless gesture and 
her mouth drooped. 

“I have a great attachment for that uncle of 
yours,” I said. “Is there any chance of squaring 
things with him? I rely on you putting in a good 
word for me.” 

“Do you really? Your confidence is amazing. It 
always was. Have you seen Mr. Frean lately?” 
she added abruptly. 

“Yes, last night.” 

“You and he aren’t particularly good friends, are 
you?” 

“Well, I suppose I should feel a bit resentful 
for his exposing me.” 

“Is that the only reason?” 

“I wasn’t aware we were actual enemies.” 


226 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


She made an impatient gesture. “Indeed! I 
suppose you call that being true to your idiotic 
man's sense of honor—what you call playing the 
game? It doesn’t do to say to a woman a deroga¬ 
tory word about a man behind his back, no matter 
how he may deserve it. You know very well 
that Mr. Frean has the making of an excellent 
scoundrel.” 

“You astonish me.” 

“No, but I shall; I overheard everything you and 
Mr. Frean said that day on the veranda. Yes, I 
did.” 

I looked appropriately astonished; indeed I was, 
very much so. I had never imagined she thought 
Frean a potential scoundrel; certainly she had 
disguised her feelings very well. 

“How did you happen to overhear us?” I asked. 

“Well, I thought you might have the grace to 
apologize, and so I came down to the drawing¬ 
room-” 

“I wanted to apologize; I came to the house 
for that purpose. I wanted to see you, and then, 
when I met Frean and he told me about that 
Red Bank business, that you and your uncle be¬ 
lieved me guilty, of course, and that I’d been hiding 
—well, I hadn’t the nerve.” 

“It is your turn to astonish me,” she said. “I 
thought you had nerve enough for anything—and 



AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 227 

I’m not at all sure you haven’t. I haven’t found 
you lacking in that commodity.” 

“There is nerve and nerve. But I don’t see how 
you could have overheard all our conversation un¬ 
less you listened deliberately.” 

“Of course I listened deliberately,” she said, un¬ 
abashed. “The windows were open and I listened 
for all I was worth. It wasn’t one of those stage 
conventions, where one is caught and is forced to 
eavesdrop—or pretend that one is forced. I’m mak¬ 
ing no bones about it, and I’d do it again if I had 
the chance.” 

“I am pained and shocked beyond words.” 

“So was I. To think you knew all the time, 
and never told me! We had no idea Mr. Frean was 
guilty of such things, but my uncle has proved 
their truth.” 

Perhaps this, then, accounted for Frean’s sudden 
return to town, and not the fact of my engaging 
the services of the Blunt Agency. No doubt he 
believed I had gone to Varney with the facts of his 
evil career, done as I had threatened. 

“So it was Mr. Frean,” pursued my companion, 
“who induced you to take your first drink, well 
knowing your inheritance?” 

“I wasn’t a child. He couldn’t have induced me 
if I hadn’t let him.” 

“Oh, I quite realize you don’t blame him in the 
least. You’re a very strong person, and quite able 


228 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


to stand alone, aren’t you? But I’m curious to 
know what particular incident made him your enemy 
in the first place.” 

“Oh, we fell out over some trivial thing, I forget 
what.” 

“No, you don’t, but you’ve made up your mind 
not to tell me. Very well, I shan’t press you. Only, 
I think it’s perfectly stupid of you to champion 
him. Tell me, supposing he hadn’t recognized you, 
and Joyce hadn’t turned up, how long would you 
have kept up the fraud on us? Had you any 
reason for remaining so long?” 

“I should say I had; the best reason in the 
world.” 

“Indeed. What was it?” 

“I was in love.” 

“O-o-h. With whom, may I ask? The cook?” 

“No. I’ll give you three guesses.” 

“Then it must have been the upper housemaid.” 

“No, it mustn’t; nor the lower, either. Marvelous 
to relate, it was yourself.” 

“Mr. Lawton!” 

“Miss Gelette.” 

“You—you—I-” 

“You needn’t try to seem astonished. You know 
perfectly well how things are with me, that I crashed 
head over heels in love with you from the first 
day I saw you. You know that; you’ve known 
it——” 




AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 


229 


“I know nothing of the kind!” she exclaimed, 
growing crimson. “This—this is ridiculous, Mr. 
Lawton! I cannot listen-” 

“I have merely answered your question, and I 
see no harm in the simple statement of an obvious 
truth. The fact that I can never marry you makes 
it all the simpler.” 

“H-have I asked you to marry me?” she de¬ 
manded, almost choking with anger, astonishment, 
and exasperation. “This is too much!” She pushed 
back her chair and arose. 

“If you will only let me explain-” I began. 

“I am going home,” she said icily, “and I’m going 
alone.” 

But she wasn’t. When she got into the car 
she found me on the seat opposite. 

“To resume,” I said, “I cannot see why the sim¬ 
ple fact-” 

“There is a great deal you cannot see. It ap¬ 
pears to be a constitutional defect. Would you 
mind saying nothing further? It would make your 
forced presence less intolerable.” 

Having agreed to silence, I said: “But we were 
getting along so splendidly, and then this happened 
suddenly and all over nothing. I’m sure I can’t 
help loving you; that is something beyond my con¬ 
trol. And is there any harm in saying what I 
feel ? I remember acutely what your uncle said 
about my father. I agree with him. A man with 





230 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


my inheritance has no business marrying—not, as 
your uncle said, if he loves the girl better than 
himself. That is my position.” 

“Your heroism and self-sacrifice are to be pro¬ 
foundly admired, Mr. Lawton, and you take it all, 
this great tragedy, with such delightful cheerfulness. 
But then, you are a philosopher.” 

“You know perfectly well that the greatest tragedies 
must be spoken of lightly. If I didn’t speak with 
cheerfulness, I couldn’t speak at all.” 

“What a pity, then, there is such a thing as 
cheerfulness! May I call your attention to the fact 
that this is the second time you have said: ‘You 
know perfectly well-’ I object to having knowl¬ 

edge of certain facts imputed to me. I know what 
I know and what I don’t know, and no one knows 
better. Is that clear?” 

“Perfectly. You mean you know I don’t know 
what you know you know.” 

“Exactly. So at no time was I aware of your 
feelings toward me, nor do I know how one must 
speak about tragedies—though I should say you 
were the very worst of tragedians. Also, your 
explanation and apology—if you meant it as such— 
is hardly satisfying. The fact that you cannot 
marry isn’t such a tremendous fact of world-wide 
importance, nor the cause of public lamentation, 
as you appear to think it. Moreover, it hardly gives 
you the right to go round telling people that you 



AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 


231 

love them, does it? Forgive me, then, if I feel 
a trifle bored.” 

It was here that, as if to relieve her boredom, 
there came a loud report, the car stopped with a 
jerk, and Joyce informed us respectfully that we 
had a blow-out. 

We found ourselves on a dark and lonely road, 
which, I learned later, was up near Washington 
Heights, between the river and Broadway; a street 
recently cut through, and in which building operations 
were in progress. 

“Is this the way home from the Claremont to 
the Waldorf?” I demanded of Joyce. “Do you 
really think so, even if you do come from Philadel¬ 
phia?” 

“You said first off you was in no hurry, sir, 
and I thought I’d be doing you a service if I 
went a bit out of my way going home,” he re¬ 
marked, in a confidential aside. “I can be a longish 
time over this job, sir, if you and Miss Gelette 
was to take a little walk. I’ve done a bit of 
sweetheartin’ myself, sir.” 

“Have you? You’re very obliging, Joyce, but 
we won’t be taking any little walk. You get that 
blow-out fixed at once; I’ve been a chauffeur, re¬ 
member, and I know just how long it should take. 
If there’s any slacking, I guarantee to speed you up.” 

Murmuring something about the ingratitude of 
certain people he took off his coat and went to 


232 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


the tool chest; and then out of the darkness on my 
right there came three reports that were blow-outs 
of another order, the bullets droning past like angry 
hornets, and one nicking me on the ear. 

I scuttled out of the circle of light in which I 
had been standing, and, drawing my trusty weapon, 
charged valiantly for the spot whence came the 
flashes. But somehow I find it awfully hard to be 
a hero, though it looks so dead easy when, say, 
Douglas Fairbanks gets into action. I admire 
Douglas; he is the original little cleaner-up of 
trouble and nothing ever goes wrong with his 
game. He never foozles or duffs a shot and, had 
he been in my place, he would have smoked out 
those varlets in ambush—aye, even had they been 
a hundred in number—and killed them slowly and 
painfully and most satisfactorily. Darkness is nothr 
ing to him, nor are ten-foot fences. 

Unfortunately I didn’t see the fence until I 
couldn’t help it, until, in fact, I’d crashed into it 
headfirst, bounced off buoyantly and landed in a 
heap of muck. Then I knew it was there. This, 
and a few stars, was all I did see or find, though 
I hunted round promiscuously. But presently I 
heard something else—the chug of a motor from 
the side street across the vacant lot. The birds had 
flown, so I returned my automatic to its swinging 
hammock under my left arm, and retired in good 


AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 


233 


order to the car, covered not with glory but with 
refuse. Somehow it always happens thus with me. 

When I got back to the car Joyce was hiding 
manfully behind it while Brenda Gelette, woman¬ 
ishly, was out scouting round to see what was up. 
While I was trying to explain, a policeman broke 
into the family circle and demanded anxiously if 
we thought it was the Fourth of July. 

“It wasn’t you, sir, they was after,” said Joyce, 
as I explained the fireworks. “It was me. You 
remember we was standing in the light looking at 
the forward wheels; and then I dodged round to 
the tool chest. That move saved my life, for it 
was me they was aiming at.” 

“Of course, I know that,” I replied, smiling 
sweetly at him. “I haven’t an enemy in the world.” 

“And I have,” he sighed. “This ain’t the first 
time I’ve been potted at, not by a long shot.” 

To the policeman he told a moving story of an 
Italian whom he had crossed in some love affair 
in the Quaker City. Joyce was clearly a man of 
parts, for he related the tale circumstantially and 
well, while he looked at me as much as to say: 
“I told you, sir, I’d done a bit of sweetheartin’.” 
It gratified him, too, when the conscientious police¬ 
man laboriously wrote down the mythical Italian’s 
name, his description, and former address. 

The bluecoat was no Sherlock Holmes, but he 
seemed to think it rather remarkable that the would- 


234 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


be assassin should have known beforehand our home¬ 
ward route, and that our tire should happen to 
explode conveniently near where he was hiding in 
ambush. Of course, I had remarked these little 
oddities myself, but I forebore comment. I hate to 
criticize a good story, such as Joyce’s. 

When at length we resumed our journey, Brenda 
Gelette manifested a flattering interest in my damaged 
ear, after which we hastened to return to our former 
footing. 

“It was perfectly stupid of you to act as you did,” 
she said quite angrily. “There’s a difference between 
bravery and mere folly. The idea of rushing like 
that at a hidden enemy who has a loaded revolver! 
It’s a wonder you weren’t riddled like a sieve. I 
hate people who are always showing off.” 

“My action was based on sound strategy and 
tactics, which any properly qualified military au¬ 
thority will admit,” I said injuredly. “Out of the 
light from the car I was on equal terms with the 
enemy; we were both in the dark. Added to which 
I was too frightened to really know which way I 
was running. And, finally, I was in no danger, 
for the enemy wasn’t mine, but Joyce’s.” 

“He wasn’t Joyce’s. I saw what happened. Joyce 
had stepped safely to the opposite side of the car, 
leaving you alone in the light, before those shots 
were fired. At that short distance there could be 


AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 


235 


no mistaking you for him. Joyce may have a hundred 
jealous Italians after him, but those bullets were 
meant for you, and it was only by a miracle you 
escaped. And if you ‘haven’t an enemy in the world/ 
why do you carry a pistol? Yes, you needn’t 
deny it; I saw you draw it as you ran, and it’s 
there at this minute under your coat. I suppose 
you carry it merely for ornament?” 

“Well, something like that,” I admitted. “You 
see I come of a warlike family—my grandfather 
beat the big drum in the Greenwich Village fencibles 
—and I never feel contented unless carrying a deadly 
weapon of some kind. It’s in the blood, so to speak; 
I cannot help the martial strain. A lethal weapon 
is, to me, what a—well, a walking stick is to the 
average man. You needn’t be afraid of this weapon; 
in my hands-” 

“I’m not afraid in the least—except that you’ll 
blow your eye out if you keep handling it like that. 
I know more about such things than you do; I’ve 
fired one many a time. I don’t believe you know a 
thing about it.” 

“On the contrary I am a qualified master-of-arms. 
I took a thorough correspondence course. To 
demonstrate, you see the peculiarity about this in¬ 
strument is that you load it in the handle. I’ll 

show you; you see—why, drat it-” For there 

wasn’t a blessed cartridge in the magazine. 




236 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“I knew it,” said Miss Gelette icily, for some 
reason more angry than ever. “You poor idiot!” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I say you poor idiot! It wasn’t even loaded. 
And you rushed after those men—oh, my goodness 
me!” 

“One can’t account for such things,” I said. “The 
beauty of this instrument is that one can’t see when 
it is loaded. It is all Watkins’ fault and I must 
speak to him about it. What’s the use of having a 
valet if he can’t attend to such things? It’s really 
not the fault of this weapon; I assure you it’s a very 
deadly one if somebody only happens to remember 
to load it.” 

“You are absolutely hopeless—in every way,” she 
said viciously. “I hate you!” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I hate you! I never knew I could hate anybody 
as I do you. But, of course, your affairs are your 
own, and I’m quite sure it’s less than nothing to me 
if you happen to be killed a dozen times a day 
by all the hidden enemies in the world.” 

“That,” I said, “would be manifestly impossible. 
The only hidden enemy that has me thinking of 
nights is one whom you know; they call him John 
Barleycorn, and some day, when I’m absolutely 

certain I have him down for the count-” But 

I was fated this evening to have all my best speeches 



AN INTERRUPTED DIALOGUE 


237 

interrupted. We had reached the Waldorf, and I 
had to get out. 

“I am indebted to you for this afternoon and 
evening/’ I opened again on the steps of the ladies’ 
entrance. “They have been quite the happiest in a 
lonely and worthless beggar’s life. I took them by 
force, and have still to pay for them; but no price 
could come too high. Please believe I have never 
meant to offend you in any way, and that your 
lightest wish is my command. I ask you to believe, 
also, that many a light word comes from a heavy 
heart.” 

“You got that out of a book,” she said. 

“I didn’t,” I protested. 

“And you really mean,” she added inexorably, 
“that many a heavy word comes from a light head.” 
She said this with a laugh, but, to my astonish¬ 
ment, I saw that she had been crying. Whereupon 
all my good resolutions went overboard. 

“Brenda!” I cried. “My dear little girl-” 

And, starting forward impulsively, I almost fell into 
the arms of a portly dowager who, leading a gay 
female parade, had swept into the vestibule. Brenda 
was hopelessly lost in the shuffle, and the dowager, 
properly objecting to being addressed by a total 
stranger as “my dear little girl,” gave me a basilisk 
stare and suggested loudly to her retinue that “the 
man must be drunk.” 



CHAPTER XVIII 


FURTHER DISCOVERIES 

IT was Watkins’ night out and when I got home, 
* shepherded by the ridiculous Nast, I was think¬ 
ing more of Brenda Gelette than of the Black 
Company, which was not to be wondered at. Indeed 
I was thinking of her to the exclusion of all else; 
thus, you may say, I was ripe for the experience 
that befell me. And yet even if my mind hadn’t 
been preoccupied I never would have suspected that 
here in my own stronghold, guarded inwardly by the 
faithful and efficient Watkins, and outwardly by 
Blunt’s hirelings- 

However, to proceed, I walked into the parlor, like 
the historic fly, switched on the light, and found 
a spider waiting for me in the person of Arnold 
Frean, and quite a venomous spider he now ap¬ 
peared. He was looking worse than he had the 
previous night, there was a febrile fire in his sunken 
eyes, and his face was drawn and haggard. He sat 
behind a table facing the door by which I had 
entered; his right elbow rested on that table, and in 
his hand rested a veritable young cannon, its black 
white-rimmed eye directed accurately at the middle 
button of my sack coat. I hate to get hit in a 



FURTHER DISCOVERIES 


239 


place like that and so I stood promptly at attention. 
A forty-five bullet wouldn’t agree with what I had 
had at the Claremont; I could visualize it plowing 
through the menu and creating quite a disturbance. 

‘Tut that beastly thing away, Frean,” I said. “It 
might go off.” 

“It might,” he agreed, finger on trigger. 

Now I have heard and read a great deal about 
the human eye; so have you. You must have. You 
know how it has the power to soothe the savage 
breast—or is it music that does that? But you know 
what I mean; it has the power to transform the 
most voracious lions into lambs, the most enthusiastic 
murderer into a puling philanthropist. All the best 
writers are agreed on that; it has been done over 
and over again. You have heard also of the 
will to win and the power of mind over matter. 
Decidedly I had the will to live and, summoning 
all my great mental and spiritual powers I looked at 
Frean and commanded him again to demobilize. 
Nothing doing; there was something wrong some¬ 
where. Perhaps it was because Frean wouldn’t let 
me look him in the eye; at least his eye refused 
to be inveigled from that middle button. It seemed 
to fascinate him. 

“At least,” I said, “turn it a bit up or down. 
In the words of the martyred Barbara—I forget if 
they really did kill her; they should have, for Eve 
had to learn that poem—shoot if you must but spare 


240 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


your country’s victuals. I paid fifteen dollars for 
a recent dinner. Also, my friend, consider the 
carpet. Cleanliness is next to godliness.” 

To my great relief he gave a sickly sort of 
smile and then pocketed the weapon. “You’ve nerve, 
Lawton; I’ll say that for you. But I was only 
fooling, showing you what I could have done. I 
never meant to shoot you.” 

Now I was very angry for I’d been properly 
frightened. “I don’t care for that sort of fooling,” 
I said, “and I believe I can see a joke as quick 
as anybody. If you ever try anything like that on 
me again—how the Harry did you get in here?” 

He shrugged. “Oh, I knew it was Watkins’ night 
off and I happened to have a key.” 

“Happened? People don’t happen to have keys 
that fit these doors. What did you come for? 
Look here, if you’ve come to resume last night’s 
affair, it’s a mere waste of time. I refuse to quarrel 
with you seriously. You know I’ve licked you once, 
and that, no matter how you may deserve it, I 
can’t go on beating you up. There’s no glory 
in it. Therefore, knowing that, it doesn’t show 
much spirit on your part-” 

“I’m not here for that,” he said jerkily, with 
twitching lips. “I—I’ve something to say to you, 
something that no one else must hear. It’s as much 
as my life’s worth. You’re right; I didn’t happen 



FURTHER DISCOVERIES 241 

to have a key; one was made specially and given 
to me.” 

I sat down and looked at him; in spite of Ash¬ 
ton’s tragic death I still felt a certain pity for 
Frean. Perhaps “understanding” is a better word. 
Like myself, he had taken the wrong turning in life’s 
highway, a far more dangerous one than that which 
I had trod for a time, and he had gone on blundering 
into the abyss. Unlike myself, early poverty had 
never fostered the best in him. 

“What exactly is the idea?” I said. 

“I was sent here to kill you, Lawton,” he said 
slowly, pausing between each word, while he fixed 
his somber eyes on me. “You will do me justice 
to admit that I could have done so easily. I could 
have shot you down like a dog-” 

“And been caught and sent to the chair for it.” 

“Perhaps, but that isn’t the point. I could have 
done it and I didn’t. I saved your life, and now 
I ask you to save mine.” 

“I’d like to, Frean. but it takes two to do that. 
You’ve been throwing your life away, living-” 

“I don’t mean that. I’m a marked man now; 
they’ll kill me!” 

“My dear fellow-” 

He broke in upon me passionately, almost hys¬ 
terically. “You must listen to me! You must 
believe all I say! You must take things seriously 
for once. You’re a marked man, Lawton, and now, 





242 THE BLACK COMPANY 

so am I! So am I! They’ll kill me for betraying 
them. They’ll kill us both as they killed poor Ash¬ 
ton! They’re devils, I tell you; they’ll stop at 
nothing! That fiend, Corby, suspects me. He has 
all along. I’ve seen it in his bloodless face and 
dead eyes. He says nothing, but he knows. He’s 
like a white snake, waiting to strike! I—I can’t 
bear the strain any longer. I know you think 
I’m crazy—God knows I soon will be!” 

He covered his face with his hands and cowered 
back in the chair, the picture of an utterly broken 
and abject spirit. It is a terrible picture, one you 
can never forget. 

I got him to swallow some whisky, speaking to 
him as I would to a child. “You’re absolutely safe 
here,” I repeated, “and you don’t have to convince 
me of your sanity. I’ve heard of the Black Com¬ 
pany.” 

At the words he dropped the glass with a crash, 
started up, and stared at me wildly, terrified and 
astonished. “You—you’ve heard of it? How?” 

“Never mind that now. I know you’re a mem¬ 
ber. Pull yourself together and tell me all about 
it. I’m not your enemy, Frean, and never was.” 

“N-no, but I was yours,” he said brokenly. “I 
hated you, Lawton. I hated you for catching me at 
the card sharping and because you’d always been 
too decent to me. I got you to drink, hoping you’d 
go the way of all your folks. I hated you—and 


FURTHER DISCOVERIES 


243 


yet I’ve come to you to-night, feeling that you’re 
the only man who could or would help me, the only 
man I could rely on. Queer, isn’t it? I don’t 
pretend to understand it, but it’s so.” 

“Don’t try to understand it,” I said. “Now I 
want to ask you one question; did you know be¬ 
forehand anything about what was going to happen 
to Tommy Ashton?” 

“As God is my judge, I knew nothing about it! 
I don’t know yet. I’ve only suspicions.” 

“I couldn’t bring myself to think you did, Frean— 
a man who’d been to college with you and had 
done his best to help you. And yet you saw us 
together at the Admiral that night. What brought 
you there?” 

“To see Roupell. I didn’t know you and Ashton 
were there until I walked into the grill. Roupell 
asked me to meet him there; he phoned me. No, 
I never even knew that Ashton was going to Phila¬ 
delphia that night. I swear it, Lawton.” 

“Then I’ll help you,” I said. “I’ll help you to 
the last cent and the last kick in me. I’ve a bone 
to pick with these jovial clubmates of yours, and 
we can help each other a lot. This visit of yours 
hasn’t surprised me so awfully much; I knew last 
month the society suspected you, that they weren’t 
sure of you, and I saw last night signs of you 
cracking under the strain. You’ve got the right 


244 THE BLACK COMPANY 

line on Corby; he was detailed to watch you—and 
so was I.” 

“Y-you?” His face went livid, and he made a 
sudden dive for the revolver. 

I swept it aside and shoved him back in the chair. 
“Keep your hair on, Frean. I’m not a member of 
the society, and you haven’t fallen into any trap.” 

“You gave me an awful turn,” he gasped, mop¬ 
ping his face. “You see, I don’t know half the 
members. What do you mean, then?” 

“I’ll expjain later. First, I want to hear all you 
know about this crew. You can trust me absolutely. 
How did you get in with them?” 

“I hardly know myself,” he said despondently, 
and with a dazed expression. “The past few months 
have been a nightmare. It was all my own fault, 
of course. You know the pace I was going. Well, 
I needed money badly, and got into the clutches of 
Howard Roupell. You don’t know the real Roupell, 
Lawton.” He glanced about him with the old 
hunted look and instinctively lowered his voice. 

“I’m not sure that I don’t,” I said. “Isn’t he a 
member ?'” 

“Yes, though I don’t know how you guessed it. 
It was he who put me up to the twenty-thousand- 
dollar stock job for which my father chucked me 
out. If I hadn’t bungled it a bit, the thing might 
never have been discovered. Roupell got most of 
the profit, or, rather, it went to the general funds 


FURTHER DISCOVERIES 


245 


of the Black Company. Of course, I haven’t a 
shred of evidence, the kind that would make good 
in a court of law, to prove his part in it. They’re 
too clever for that. Anyway, if I had tried to 
squeal, they’d have finished me.” 

“Just what a sort of a society is it?” 

“It’s a criminal organization or company, run 
on business lines. I’m not a full-fledged member, 
for six months have to pass before you’re really 
admitted. In other words, you’re under supervision 
for that length of time. Roupell assured me they 
only shaved the law. I—I had no idea of the 
organization’s true nature until it was too late. I 
swear I hadn’t.” 

“Why do they use the names of the chess pieces 
and the algebraic notation? Yes, I know about that.” 

“I don’t really know, but Roupell told me they 
took the name of the Black Company because life 
was a chess game, and they were the Black pieces 
because they were always on the defensive. The 
White pieces, representing the law and organized 
society, were always attacking them. They’re 
anarchists, but without the anarchist’s sacrifice of 
self, or his folly. They are foes of the State and 
Church, but they don’t aim at any Utopia. They 
aim merely to secure the riches which they claim 
the world owes them. Trusts are the order of the 
day, and this is simply a sort of criminal trust. 
Of course, I haven’t been admitted to their full 


246 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


confidence, .or all their secrets, but I believe they've 
regular meetings at the Philadelphia headquarters, 
when they all appear dressed to represent chessmen. 
Pm not eligible to attend such meetings, and I don’t 
know where the place is.” 

Frean then verified Blunt’s surmise: that a pawn 
was attached to every capital piece, and that these 
pawns were promoted, according to service rendered, 
until they became capital pieces in turn, that they 
did all the actual dangerous work, and were sacrificed 
ruthlessly at the first sign of treachery. The earn¬ 
ings of all members were pooled, and every one 
drew a percentage according to his standing in the 
company. 

“I don’t know how many members there are,” he 
finished, “but certainly there are more than sixteen, 
for there are the ‘probationers,’ like me, to reckon 
with; those who haven’t yet become full-fledged 
pawns. There is a capital piece, pawn, and proba¬ 
tioner in different cities; for instance, here in New 
York, Howard Roupell is the King’s bishop, Corby 
the pawn, and I the probationer. With the exception 
of Joyce and another, these are all the members I 
know. And I wouldn’t have known about Joyce 
but for what you said a minute ago. You meant 
that he had been detailed to watch me?” 

“Yes.” And I related briefly all that had hap¬ 
pened at Mr, Varney’s, and the attempt on my 
life in Philadelphia and the subway. 


FURTHER DISCOVERIES 


247 


“This is all news to me!” exclaimed Frean. 
“Roupell never said a word to me about suspecting 
you; I suppose I wasn’t to be trusted. Well, they 
were right, as it turns out; maybe they knew me 
better than I knew myself. But those fellows in 
Philly might have been ordinary thugs, and are 
you quite sure you were shoved in front of that 
train ?” 

“Oh, quite; there’s no mistake. I knew I was a 
marked man before you told me, and I’ve grown 
quite used to it. They made a third try to-night.” 

“To-night? You mean me—my being here-” 

“No, I don’t. I was up at Claremont-” And 

I related the incident. “Of course I can see now 
that Joyce must have telephoned from the Clare¬ 
mont that I’d slipped the detective who’s been 
watching me, and they fixed it up to take me 
out of the beaten track which I’ve been sticking to 
closely. You can make a blow-out to order if you 
want, and they had the surprise package all ready. 
It would have served me right if the thing had 
come off as they planned, for I should have obeyed 
orders. You see, the Blunt Agency’s been on the 
job for the past week, and I’ve been guarded like 
a pet lamb.” 

“The Blunt Agency! You mean, Lisping Jimmie?” 
cried Frean, with a look of fear. “This, then, 
explains everything. No wonder you’re a marked 
man! They must suspect what you’ve done. I had 




248 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


absolutely no knowledge of this. I’ve been all kinds 
of a rotter, Lawton, but I’d no hand in those two 
attempts on your life. Yet I admit that I wanted 
you out of the way, not because you were an enemy 
of the society—because I didn't know that—but 
because I hated you. Listen, did you suspect that 
that affair last night was all prearranged, that if 
you had consented to fight me and accompanied 
Roupell and me to the place I named, it would have 
been the end of you?” 

“Oh, yes, I saw that pretty clearly, though that 
wasn’t the reason I dodged the invitation. I had 
an idea Roupell and you had set the stage. As 
you weren’t drunk, I saw no logical reason why you 
should insist on being licked again—for you know 
very well you haven’t a chance with me, and Roupell 
overplayed his hand a bit.” 

“You’re no fool, Lawton; it would take a mighty 
clever man to get to windward of you. You’re far 
sharper than I, for, even knowing Roupell as I do, 
I never thought he was playing a double game 
with me. He told me he hated you secretly because 
you’d cut him out with a woman last winter—the 
Swedish dancer, Nelson-” 

“That’s all piffle. I met Selma Nelson exactly 
twice, and never alone.” 

“He worked on my hatred and jealousy,” con¬ 
tinued Frean, “for I may as well admit that my 
regard for Miss Gelette is more than that of a mere 



FURTHER DISCOVERIES 


249 


friend. But don’t think I’m still fool enough to 
imagine there’s any hope for me in that quarter,” 
he finished lifelessly. “She’s done with me. I’ve 
lost, as I deserved, while you’ve won out, as you 
deserved. I know that.” 

“Then you know a lot. I haven’t the slightest 
reason to consider myself in such a fortunate posi¬ 
tion, rather the reverse, in fact. Leaving Miss 
Gelette out of it, I wouldn’t think of trying to 
saddle any woman with my inheritance-” 

“A million or so? Most of them wouldn’t mind.” 

“I wasn’t speaking of dollars, and they aren’t 
everything. I mean, I’d have to be a good deal 
surer than I am at the present moment that I’ve 
killed out the drink craze for all time.” 

“Well, anyway,” he said, with a shrug, “I’m 
out of it, and I don’t feel bitter toward you any 
longer. If it wasn’t you, it would be some one else 
—never me. But, as I said, Roupell worked on 
my jealousy, and had me so I didn’t know what 
I was doing. I was afraid of him, too—and I’m 
afraid of him yet. He put me up to coming here 
to-night, saying how easy it would be, and he in¬ 
timated that if I didn’t do it, I would find myself 
‘removed’—that being their polite term for murder. 
It was a case of your life or mine. This, then, was 
my first suspicion that it wasn’t such a private 
and personal matter between you and Roupell as 
he would have me believe. I realized that I was to 



250 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


be the instrument. That finished me. From some¬ 
thing Roupell let drop the other day, I suspected that 
the society had had a hand in the killing of poor 
Ashton. The thought was driving me crazy, 
Lawton.” 

“Yes, I should think it would.” 

“Well,” added Frean, “I determined to end it to¬ 
night, to come here, pretending to carry out Roupell’s 
orders, and confess everything to you. Eve done 
so. Now let them do their worst.” And he sank 
back wearily, with white, haggard face. “Anyway, 
it’s all up with me, for if they don't get me, the 
law will. That fellow Blunt has a reputation for 
getting what he goes after, and he must have the 
case cut and dried by this time.” 

“No, far from it. It's a tough proposition, and 
we've hardly made any headway—but we shall now. 
Of course, I guarantee you complete immunity where 
the law’s concerned; that’s no more than your right. 
Now, have you any idea who is at the head of this 
crime trust, the man known as the Black King?” 

He looked at me queerly for a moment in silence. 
“Yes, that’s the one other member I said I knew. 
But surely you know. The Black King is Theodore 
Varney.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


I LEARN A LOT MORE 

F^REAN’S last words rendered me speechless, all 
* my old suspicions regarding Theodore Varney 
boiling to the surface of my mind. The fact of 
my genuine regard for the man wasn’t enough to 
stay them. First suspicions are hard to dispossess. 

“But that’s impossible!” I exclaimed at length. 
“Varney’s been investigated pretty nearly back to 
Adam, and there was absolutely nothing to show 
him guilty of the smallest legal offense, let alone 
being head of a crime trust.” 

Frean looked at me with a sort of pitying expres¬ 
sion. “Investigated by you personally?” 

“No, by Blunt, too.” 

“Then Blunt, being the man he is, may have 
found out more than he has told you. As a rule, 
clients aren’t let in on everything till the case is 
finished, sometimes not even then.” 

“I admit that. But why should I get a code 
message from the King in Philadelphia, while Varney 
was at Sea Bright? And where would be the sense 
in having Joyce smuggled into the house? And 
why would Varney write of himself: ‘Varney moves 
on second?’ No, there’s no sense in it; it isn’t 
logical.” 


252 THE BLACK COMPANY 

“On the contrary,” said Frean, “I think if you 
consider it carefully, it will appear entirely logical. 
I believe that those two messages were meant simply 
to throw you off the track. How do you know 
that the first one actually came from Philadelphia? 
There was no address, was there ?” 

“No, but there was the postmark on the envelope.” 

“And what was to stop them using another en¬ 
velope, from a letter, say, that Varney had got that 
day? I believe that the second message was even 
dropped purposely for you to find. Those messages 
were a bait, if you ask me; they may have wanted 
to see what you’d do with them, to see how much 
you knew. Haven’t you said that they must have 
known for over a week before you left that you 
were an impostor?” 

“Yes, they must have, according to Joyce’s stay 
in the hospital.” 

“Well, and as for Joyce himself, he simply 
comes back to his master. There isn’t anything to 
prove your theory that there was a plot to remove 
Jules. He may have gone back to the bottle of 
his own sweet will, and Corby’s drinking with him 
doesn’t show anything. Joyce may have been planted 
with Mr. Fremstad for a reason and, his work 
done, returns to his master. Mr. Fremstad may be 
the potential victim.” 

“That’s a new idea.” 

“Well, of course, I’m only guessing,” added 


I LEARN A LOT MORE 


253 


Frean. “Fremstad may be a member for all I 
know. The one and only positive fact that I do 
know is that Varney is the Black King. I can 
prove it just as I can prove that Roupell is the 
King’s bishop. But you see what it means? Suffer¬ 
ing and disgrace for Brenda Gelette. Of course, 
she has no idea of the truth. For her sake and 
because I was in fear of my own life—perhaps 
that was the stronger reason—I’ve kept this under 
my hat. But now it’s up to you, Lawton. You 
can’t hit Varney without hitting his niece, but if 
you still decide to go through with the thing, I’m 
ready to do my bit. I’ve the necessary proof under 
lock and key at home, but if you don’t use it, no 
one else shall.” 

“There can be no question of Miss Gelette in 
this,” I said. “These fellows have got to be smashed, 
no matter who suffers, but I’ll only believe Varney 
guilty when I see the indisputable proof. Look here,” 
I added, fixing my eyes on him, “are you trying to 
slip anything over on me? If you’re not playing 
straight, Frean, I’ll clean your clock for you! I’ll 
show you absolutely no mercy.” 

He made a weary, impatient gesture that was 
convincing in itself. “What could I put over on 
you? Look at that gun and think what I could 
have done if I was still your enemy. No, I’ve come 
to you for help and am telling you nothing but the 
truth. I’ve no spite against Brenda Gelette, either; 


254 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


if I had, I could have informed on her uncle long 
ago if I cared to face the risk. There’s a decent 
spot in the worst of us, Lawton, and Fd do a lot 
to save her from suffering. Surely, if you knew 
that Joyce and Corby and I were members of the 
Black Company, you must have suspected Varney; 
otherwise why should we three be in Sea Bright?” 

( “At first I suspected him, but afterward J 
thought there was a plot of some kind against him, 
and that you had come down to help it along. Of 
late I haven’t known what to think, for we could 
prove no connection between him and his crime 
trust. When did you find out, and does he know? 
And what are these proofs you mention?” 

“No, he isn’t aware that I know. I don’t wonder 
you’ve difficulty in believing him a member of this 
gang; I had myself and Fve known him far longer 
than you. I’ve known him off and on for the 
past ten years, our families having met in the Berk- 
shires one summer. Of course I’d no idea when 
I joined the society that Varney was its head.” 

“But the proof?” 

“I’ve got the best in the world, not only about 
Varney but Roupell. I got possession of code 
messages showing Varney to be the Black King and 
Roupell to be the King’s bishop; they passed between 
them via Corby. These messages also contained 
a reference to the murder of Ashton. I obtained 
possession of them long enough to take photos of 


I LEARN A LOT MORE 


255 

them. They were in Varney’s and Roupell’s hand¬ 
writing. I guess that’s proof enough.” 

Frean had hardly finished speaking, when the desk 
telephone rang, and, taking down the receiver, I 
heard the welcome and well-known lisping voice of 
Blunt. It was a fortunate happening, for 1 didn’t 
know his private address, and, it being Sunday 
night, I had been wondering how to get in touch 
with him before morning. 

“Hello, thith you, Mr. Lawton?” came his sleepy, 

lisping drawl. “Yeth, thith ith Blunt talking. 

Yeth, ith quite all right. Nobody’s listening in; 
I’ve theen to that. I’m at the Waldorf, and a 
taxi with a couple of my men will call in ten minutes 
to bring you here. Can you leave without the 
houthe detective and my man in front theeing you?” 

“Yes, I can go down the back way and leave 
by the employees’ entrance on the side street. But 
look here-” 

“Wait. I want you to get thith right. The car 
will wait for you at the employees’ entrance. If 
possible, I don’t want my man to know you’ve 
left; a certain party is watching him, and if my 
man thinks you still in, the other party will, too. 

Thee? Bring Mr. Frean with you-” 

“How in thunder did you know-” 

“Oh, a little bird told me,” he drawled. “We 
have the case about cut and dried. Tell Frean that 
thith ith his one and only chance to square the 






256 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


game. He can either come with you and face the 
Black King here, or wait to be scooped. It's all 
one to me. Ta, ta! Thee you later.” And the 
wire clicked as he rung off. 

“Lisping Jimmie?” queried Frean, as I hung up 
the receiver. He was pale and his voice trembled, 
though he tried to appear composed. “What’s up? 
What did he say about me?” 

I related the conversation. 

“What did I tell you?” said Frean, with a 
fatalistic shrug. “He wasn’t telling you anything. 
You can’t beat him. He must have old Varney 
dead to rights. Well, I’ve beaten him to it; I’ve 
squared the game already, and he doesn’t have to 
put on the screws. You won’t go back on me, 
Lawton? You know I told you everything of my 
own free will before I knew of this round-up?” 

I wasn’t so sure that he hadn’t known of it, at 
least suspected its imminence and made a virtue of 
necessity. But I said nothing. I couldn’t blame 
him for trying to get the best out of his unenviable 
position. Far better to appear as a voluntary 
penitent, a savior of my life and all that, than 
to await inevitable arrest. He was a born turner 
of State’s evidence. 

I was rather floored by the unexpected and sudden 
turn of events. Rather irritated, too. I hate to 
be thought stupid, and yet I had sadly underesti¬ 
mated Jimmie Blunt. But resentment at the thought 


I LEARN A LOT MORE 


257 


of his keeping everything so quiet till the last 
moment was stilled when I recollected how often I 
had disobeyed his strict injunctions. I was cut 
up, too, about Varney. For all Frean’s convincing 
talk, I had held a sneaking hope that he was honestly 
mistaken about the man. But Blunt’s being at the 
Waldorf, and his words concerning the Black King, 
admitted of no other construction. 

“I suppose Blunt’s waiting to play his big ace, 
pull off a grand dramatic tableau. They all do/’ 
said Frean, with a sneer. “Well, I’ll play my part; 
can’t do anything else. Mind if I take a slug of 
brandy? It’s going to be a beastly scene. I’d stay 
out of it if I were you.” 

“I hadn’t a chance to decline. I suppose I’m 
a necessary supernumerary.” 

“Rather you’re the necessary angel of the show, 
and the stage manager wants to give you full value. 
You’re entitled to a front seat. Well, you’ve done 
some good with your money, Lawton, though Miss 
Gelette may not see it that way all at once.” 

“Forget it, will you? I can think of that part 
without your help. Are you coming?” 

He nodded, picked up the revolver and threw it 
on a chair. “Keep it as a souvenir, Lawton. Re¬ 
member what I could have done with it, and that 
you’ve sworn to help me.” 

1 had always known him for a secret coward, and 
now, instead of pity, I felt a mighty disgust. He 


258 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


was in a state verging on absolute funk, and helped 
himself to another hooker before quitting the room, 

I was familiar with every twist and corner of 
the building, and had left by the employees’ en¬ 
trance more than once in my abortive attempts to 
elude the oppressive vigilance of Nast. 

“I’m just as glad we’re taking this route,” said 
Frean, as we dodged the elevators and went down 
the back stairs. He wiped his damp forehead. 
“Some of our friends may be watching the front 
entrance, and might risk everything for a crack 
at us. After all, it’s something to have a fellow 
like Blunt watching over one. I’ve learned to 
believe in the majesty of the law. It’s a mighty 
good thing for me that it exists.” 

We got down the back stairs and out of the em¬ 
ployees’ entrance, halfway down the block, without 
glimpsing any one but a stray bell boy. A taxi 
was waiting with purring engine, and a couple of 
men were posted on either side of the open door. 

“Mr. Lawton?” queried one, as we approached. 
“Yes, sir, the Blunt Agency. The Waldorf, Jack,” 
he added to the chauffeur. “Let her go.” 

Frean and I jumped in, followed by the two men, 
the door slammed, and we were off. 

The next moment I stopped a tremendous wallop 
behind the ear that sent me to the floor. I heard 
Frean’s half-hysterical giggle, and for a brief time 


I LEARN A LOT MORE 259 

the closed and darkened car rocked as I tried to put 
up some kind of a fight against hopeless odds. 

I think at that I might have had some kind of 
a show but for Frean. He was half crazy with 
fear and hatred—a deadly mixture—and he went at 
me like a wild cat with everything he had, while 
he urged on the other three. For another man 
had appeared from nowhere. 

“Don’t give him a chance!” he kept snarling. 
“Throw it into him, boys! He’ll take more killing 
than a bull.” 

Finally some one got an elbow under my chin, 
my head was forced back, and a sweetish-smelling 
sop jammed over my mouth and nose. And so I 
quit. 


CHAPTER XX 


THE BLACK KING 

I T is strange how occasionally one has a repetition 
of the same fantastic dream. I dreamed now, 
as I did that night at Varney’s, that Corby was an 
animate Black bishop trying to drown me in a 
vat of buttermilk, and, awakening, I found him 
sitting staring at me with the familiar and repugnant 
lifeless eyes set in the dead-white face. He now 
wore a straggling fair beard, which didn’t help his 
beauty. It wasn’t false, because no imitation could 
have been such a failure. 

I was lying, ‘‘hog-tied,” on a couch in a barely 
furnished room. I was full of aches and pains as 
a jumping tooth, while the chloroform or ether 
had made me sick. But I was more sick with 
myself, with my trusting faith and stupidity and I 
groaned inwardly when I thought of what Blunt 
would say of it all. For one who had always rather 
prided himself on his cleverness I had made a 
sad hash of things. 

I was gratified somewhat to discover that Corby 
had a discolored eye and several plaster crosses on 
his ugly, top-heavy dome. Evidently he had been 
a member of the reception committee, waiting in- 


THE BLACK KING 


261 


side the cab, and whose presence I hadn’t suspected 
until too late. 

He now sat at a little table, munching Swiss cheese 
and pretzels, and swilling buttermilk, just as I 
had seen him do at Knight’s, just as dispassionately 
and thoroughly. As if attracted by the smell of the 
cheese, and encouraged by the silence, a mouse 
crept out from a corner and watched us for a mo¬ 
ment with bright, inquisitive eyes, then scuttled 
away home. As I had free use of my tongue, 
I took it that we were in some place where I 
might burst my lungs with noise and be none 
the better for it; so I decided to save my breath. 
I decided also to keep my temper. 

“Well, Corby,“ I said, “how long are you going 
to sit staring at me like a stuck pig? Speak up 
and say how happy you are to see me. Don’t be 
bashful. You’re not looking well. What’s the mat¬ 
ter with your eye?” 

His thin lips opened in a mirthless smile. “You 
are a good fighter and a very clever man, Mr. 
Lawton,” he said, with as much emotion as if he 
were speaking of the weather. “It’s a pity, speaking 
of stuck pigs, that so much good bone and muscle 
and intellect as yours should go to feed the worms.” 

“I agree with you, but that’s the ultimate fate 
of us all, isn’t it, unless we choose the fishes? 
What’s the idea? Why not have fed me to the 
worms at once, instead of carting me here?” 


262 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Orders are orders, Mr. Lawton, and that isn’t 
within my province. But don’t worry about the 
worms.” 

“I can’t help it, Corby. Naturally I don’t want 
to figure at such a banquet earlier than I can help. 
Let us have a straight business talk, like sensible 
fellows. As I understand it, this Bowery melo¬ 
drama troupe of half-baked highbinders, of which 
I’m surprised to see you’re a member—for you seem 
to have more intelligence, and you should have better 
taste—are simply out for profit. Well, cast your 
avaricious thoughts on my various bank balances, 
and then name your figure. As a starter, how 
would ten thousand do to set me foot-loose and 
give me a chance at that window? No playing with 
fingers crossed, of course.” 

“Bribery? Fie! Mr. Lawton,” he said, with 
grave reproof. Then he took out a double-edged 
knife and began to sharpen it with the air of one 
attending to a trivial detail. “You got me in bad 
with the Company for the way you slipped it to me 
at Sea Bright,” he said, without anger or even 
interest. “There’s some things money can’t buy, 
Mr. Lawton. When they’re done with you I 
believe I’m to have the pleasure of attending to 
you.” A voracious light suddenly appeared in his 
dead eye as he rubbed the knife on the sole of his 
shoe. 

“Put that thing away, you ghoul!” I said, sud- 


THE BLACK KING 


263 

denly growing very angry because I couldn’t help 
feeling frightened. I knew it wasn’t only talk 
with him, a trick to scare me. “I believe a lot 
of you are half crazy-” 

The door opened. Roupell came in; and Corby, 
saluting like a wooden soldier, went out. 

Roupell pulled up a chair and sat down by the 
couch, a gleam of malice and amusement in his 
cushioned eyes. ‘‘What a predicament for a really 
clever man! I’m sorry, Lawton, but you would use 
your beastly money, you know, and horn in where 
you weren’t wanted.” 

“If you leave me five minutes alone with Frean, 
even with my hands tied, I’ll call all bets off,” I said. 

“Oh, you really mustn’t blame him too much. 
Weren’t you anxious to learn all about the Black 
Company—an unfortunate obsession, Lawton—and 
didn’t he oblige you? Much of what he told you 
was the truth; otherwise you wouldn’t have believed 
him. And then you had to be prepared for that 
stirring message from the famous and, by the way, 
quite incompetent Lisping Jimmie. Did it never occur 
to you that a lisping voice, especially over the phone, 
is the easiest thing in the world to imitate?” 

I didn’t know which was the worst, Corby with 
his colorless face and manner, and his methodically 
sharpening the knife on his shoe, or this Falstaff, 
who stroked his fat paunch and beamed at me. In 



264 THE BLACK COMPANY 

diametrically opposite ways they expressed the same 
sentiment—fixity of purpose and utter ruthlessness. 

“It takes such elaborate stage setting, such infinite 
attention to detail, to impress a really clever fellow 
like you, Lawton,” he went on, in his playful 
manner. “You gave us a lot of trouble, I’ll admit 
You were so deucedly well guarded, and, except for 
to-night, after leaving the Claremont, we couldn’t 
coax you off the beaten track. I’ll do you the 
justice to say you often tried to shake those agency 
bloodhounds—but no doubt you refrained from 
exerting your full and vast intelligence. After your 
skillful evasion of last night’s trap and that of to¬ 
night—I won’t say the former was due simply to 
cowardice and the latter to bad marksmanship and 
bull luck—we saw that the lion must be taken in 
his lair. We suspected you had engaged the services 
of the Blunt Agency, but we were sure of nothing; 
we didn’t know how much you really knew. You 
have very kindly told us of your own sweet will. 
There’s nothing like an exchange of information, 
a heart-to-heart talk with a repentant sinner.” 

“You needn’t rub it in, Roupell. I can manage 
to understand the sort of an ass I’ve been without 
all this labored sarcasm. You always did spoil a 
good story by overemphasis, you know.” 

Even at such a time this remark touched him on 
the raw, as I knew it would. Perhaps it was the 
only one that had power to hurt him. He wouldn’t 


THE BLACK KING 265 

have minded being called a blackguard, but he was 
acutely jealous of his reputation as a raconteur. 

“Yes, you’re a great fool, Lawton,” he said, with 
less amiability and more spite. “There’s no fool like 
the one who thinks he isn’t one. You’ve been an 
infernal nuisance, too, and have made your removal 
compulsory. We’d have let you alone if you’d let 
us alone. You understand that it’s simply a busi¬ 
ness proposition, that we can’t afford to have a pay¬ 
ing concern injured simply because an interfering 
fool like you refuses to mind his own business. In¬ 
stead of being content with your own fortune, you 
use it to try to take the bread out of the mouths 
of those who have never done you any harm.” 

“That’s a novel way of putting it,” I said. “Your 
psychology is beyond me. Well, what’s the program 
in regard to me?” 

“You’ll learn that in due time. But for one thing 
your money is going to be of great help to us. 
You are going to order that dog-eared bloodhound, 
Blunt, back to his kennel, and write several fat 
checks to ‘bearer.’ ” 

“Am I? Not so much as a penny, Roupell.” 

“We shall see. You must understand your posi¬ 
tion, Lawton. We chose your servant’s night out 
and gave that advice about the back stairs so that 
none would see you go. You may stay and rot 
here by inches, and none would be the wiser. I say 
you are going to write to Mr. Blunt, send him a 


266 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


check for his services, and say that you’ve left 
town incognito; that you’re tired of the whole busi¬ 
ness and want a rest.” 

“I shall do nothing of the kind—not that it would 
help you any, but simply as a matter of principle. 
You’ve overplayed your hand, as usual. For if 
Blunt was called off, there remain the police, over 
whom I’ve no control. The police of three States 
are after this paying concern of yours, and my dis¬ 
appearance will only make the hunt keener.” 

“That’s a feeble bluff,” he said, smiling con¬ 
tentedly. “The police have no evidence, and refuse 
to believe that we exist. Credit us with knowing 
something. Blunt isn’t the man to share your in¬ 
formation with rivals, he’ll be wanting all the glory 
for himself. The jealousy between private agencies 
and the police is well known and approved by us. 
No, you must understand your position, Lawton, and 
not make it harder than it need be. It may not 
be a matter of your life if we can come to a satis¬ 
factory understanding. I repeat that it’s simply a 
business proposition, and, rest assured, we’ll take 
every necessary measure for our protection. You 
shall do exactly as we say, sooner or later.” 

“Well, I guess I can stand anything but one 
of your alleged funny stories. Meanwhile, how about 
easing these ropes a bit and giving me a glass of 
water?” 

“I’m truly sorry, Lawton, but, as the legislators 


THE BLACK KING 


267 


say, the answer is in the negative. Nothing to 
eat or drink, not a mouthful of thick, nor a tooth¬ 
ful of moist, until you come to terms. Nor dare 
we let you foot-loose, for we haven’t had time to 
prepare an appropriate dungeon. You remain as you 
are, and Corby occupies the same room. For your 
own good, I must warn you that he has certain 
orders in case you attempt to escape—which I admit 
is virtually impossible. Still, he has a personal score 
to settle with you, so I wouldn’t advise you to give 
him the slightest chance. Ta, ta! Thee you later,” 
he finished, with a perfect imitation of the lisping 
voice of Blunt. 

“Hold on,” I said. “Will you tell me one thing? 
Is Varney really the head of this amiable paying 
concern, or was that a lie, too?” 

“You’ll meet the Black King all in good time,” 
was all he said. 

Corby not appearing when Roupell left, I had a 
whole-hearted try at my bonds; but Samson himself 
would have been unable to burst them, for the job 
had been thoroughly done. The aggravating fact 
was that, once free, I would have a chance of get¬ 
ting away, for the window was unbarred. As 
Roupell said, there had been no time to prepare a 
proper prison, and I was quartered in a humble 
wooden dwelling; but where it was situated I had 
no idea, nor could I estimate what time had elapsed 


268 THE BLACK COMPANY 

between the fight in the taxi and my regaining con¬ 
sciousness. 

If you have ever been hog-tied by a skilled and 
conscientious hand you will know just how powerless 
and cramped I was. I saw absolutely no chance of 
freeing myself for all my great strength. I had 
often read of storybook heroes in a similar position 
who had effected wonderful escapes, how they had 
severed their bonds with a bit of broken glass or 
by burning them over a lamp or candle, unmindful 
of great personal suffering. But I wasn’t providen¬ 
tially provided with any such articles; a single in¬ 
candescent lighted the room, and, even if given 
the chance, I would be quite unable to reach any 
impromptu instrument. 

Then I had an idea. It dawned upon me with 
the reappearance of the hungry and inquisitive 
mouse, which, accompanied by several friends or 
relatives, came out to forage again. They saw 
what I had neglected to see until that moment— 
that in removing the remains of his frugal supper, 
Corby had dropped a slab of cheese. 

It lay close beside the couch; and the foraging 
party, bold with hunger, made an enterprising attack 
on it, contemptuous of my presence. But I needed 
it more than they, and I routed them by jerking 
my head over the couch; then came the undignified 
and difficult task of picking up that bit of cheese 
with my teeth alone. I can recommend this feat 


THE BLACK KING 269 

to all athletes who wish a new form of indoor 
sport; but it would be fatal to fat men. 

There remained the still difficult task of placing 
the bit of chesse under me and against the cords 
connecting my feet and hands. The warmth of my 
body would do the rest. In all this I succeeded 
simply because I knew I must, for I was reduced 
to a position where a lowly piece of cheese might 
mean the difference between life and death. I had 
no faith in Roupell’s statement that I would be 
spared if I agreed to do their bidding; they would 
utilize me first, and then put an end to me. They 
couldn’t afford to let me live. 

I had hardly finished performing my novel calis¬ 
thenics when the door opened, and, instead of Corby, 
Frean entered. He sidled over to the couch like 
a maimed crab and looked at me in the most curious 
and repulsive manner. It was a blending of hatred, 
fear, triumph and shame. Yes, he had the grace 
to be ashamed, yet at the same time I knew he 
wouldn’t lift a finger to undo the work he had 
done. More curious still, he started to justify and 
excuse himself, while reviling me in the same breath. 

“1 couldn’t do anything else,” he said. “I told 
you it was my life or yours, and so it was. They’d 
have killed me if I hadn’t hooked you. You’re 
going to get yours at last, you big bruiser! I owe 
you for a lot, and it’s going to be paid. And when 
you’re under the sod I’ll marry Brenda Gelette! I’ll 


270 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


marry her, do you hear? I’ll make her glad to 
marry me! I’ll make you sweat blood for that 
licking you gave me, for every lying thing you’ve 
said about me—for—for ” 

“Well, don’t get hysterical, Frean. I quite under¬ 
stand your trying to justify yourself. I dare say 
even the original Judas did. I congratulate you on 
your acting, and never knew you had it in you. 
It was simply a masterpiece. That part about the 
revolver was great, and I fell for it like a child. 
Of course, I see now you would never have run 
the risk of using it; that would take some courage 
and nerve. Now, don’t spoil such a fine bit of work 
by trying to explain it. Such gems don’t need 
explaining any more than a beautiful sunset. They’re 
beyond it.” 

“Yes, I know what you think of me,” he said, 
plucking at a trembling lip. “But you or any one 
would have done just the same in my position. 
You would if—if you’d been taught to know what, 
fear is. And I’m not sorry!” he shouted in swift 
transition, working himself into a frenzy. “I’d 
do it again! And so would you, if you hated any 
one as I hate you!” 

Now I had no desire to prolong this edifying 
discourse; I knew it was no use appealing to Frean, 
nor could I have brought myself to attempt it. There 
are some things one can’t do. They say there is some 
good in the worst of us, and so I had always 



THE BLACK KING 


271 


believed until I came to know the real Frean. I 
realized now, when too late, the truth of what Mr. 
Hannay and Ashton had said—that there was abso¬ 
lutely nothing to appeal to in him. He was too 
utterly selfish, too utterly a coward; too utterly weak, 
vicious, and depraved. A man who could act as he 
had done was past understanding. While he stood 
chattering there, I might be losing my one chance 
of escape. If I could get him out of the room 
before Corby returned—granting that they thought I 
really needed a jailer—then the little play of the 
Lion and the Mouse—though indeed I felt anything 
but a lion—could begin all the sooner. So I closed 
my eyes and paid no attention to Frean, no more 
than as if he wasn’t there. After yelling filth at 
me for a while and finding little satisfaction in it, 
he suddenly lost his last vestige of self-control and 
hit me a resounding blow in the face. Even that I 
accepted with outward equanimity and, with a final 
barrage of abuse, he left me. 

“You’ll say something before we’re done with 
you!” were his final words. “You’ll crawl for 
mercy. See if you don’t!” 

The mice came out, as though at a signal, the 
moment Frean closed the door. Evidently the good 
news of the free lunch had been broadcasted, for 
now the bread, or rather cheese line had increased 
most gratifyingly. I am sure there were a dozen of 
them, of all ages and sizes. I don’t suppose they 


272 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


got much to eat in that house and hunger had made 
them bold; for when I heaved over with my face 
to the wall, thus exposing my wrists, they squeaked 
and scuttled, but promptly came back. 

I lay quiet, hardly daring to breathe, and they 
swarmed over me. I thought of Bishop Hatto and 
was glad they weren’t rats. Rats are voracious 
creatures and might not have known or cared very 
much where the cheese ended and I began. Or do 
rats like cheese at all? I don’t know much about 
them; no, nor mice either. They were never a 
hobby with me; in fact I never cared to know them 
intimately. As a boy, I was singularly lacking in 
the ambition to produce a white mouse or rat 
from my coat sleeve or the back of my neck, and 
now these mice were gayly cavorting over my face 
as they rushed to the feast. It was not pleasant. 

As I had hoped, the warmth of my body had 
smeared the cheese thoroughly over the ropes bind¬ 
ing my wrists and I couldn’t see how this army 
could partake of one without the other. I felt 
them nibbling away, nor should it take very long 
for those sharp little fangs to begin what my 
strength could finish. I urged them on in silent 
and eloquent prayer. 

“Go to it, you filthy little beggars. Little do you 
know what mighty events may wait upon your 
beastly appetites. Eat hearty, you vermin!” 

I have heard a great deal about the efficacy of 


THE BLACK KING 


273 


prayer, but that one of mine seemed to be a dismal 
failure; perhaps it wasn’t eloquent enough. At all 
events they suddenly squeaked in chorus, volplaned 
to the floor, and disappeared as if by magic. The 
next moment I heard heavy footsteps and, breathing 
a curse, I heaved over on my back. 

The door opened and Roupell entered, Roupell 
and another man. They came over to the couch. 
“Let me present you to His Majesty, the Black 
King,” said Roupell with an extravagant flourish. 
“I think you’ve met before.” 

We had. It was Big Tim Scallom 


CHAPTER XXI 


I INTERVIEW HIS MAJESTY 

I WAS disappointed. In the head of this crime 
* trust I had looked for one who bore some out¬ 
ward and visible sign of that subtle and keen in¬ 
telligence which undoubtedly ruled the affairs of 
the Company; I had expected a fine Toledo blade, 
as it were, and found only a crude bludgeon. 

Even before asking that question of Roupell, I 
had guessed that Varney wasn’t the Black King, 
that I had been correct in believing he had no guilty 
connection with the Black Company. Yet a per¬ 
sonality and intelligence such as his would have 
fitted in more with my idea of what the head of 
such an organization should be like. It is true, of 
course, that some of the most effective weapons are 
not impressive to look upon, and this man was 
effective in his own way. 

I may state here what I learned subsequently, that 
rather than Scallon being a victim of the “system,” 
as I had always imagined, he had been the fountain 
whence flowed all the corruption and iniquity that 
made Philadelphia a byword ten years ago. He had 
all the vices and none of the virtues of the old-time 
political boss; none of the qualities with which I, in 
my ignorance, had credited him. 


I INTERVIEW HIS MAJESTY 275 

That genial smile of his was a mask, precisely 
like Roupell’s; he was spawn of the gutter, the bad 
■'“get” of a bad breed. Moreover, I learned also 
why and how he had dropped out of the public eye, 
why I had heard nothing about him for years; the 
crusade that broke up his “ring” landed him in the 
penitentiary for three years, after a legal battle that 
cost him most of his ill-gotten gains. It was said, 
too, that he had more than one murder to his 
account, though he had escaped conviction. 

There was something ludicrous in the thought 
that, of all people, I should have selected Tim 
Scallon as the one person able to tell me the truth 
about Fremstad and Varney. I thought of Blunt’s re¬ 
mark about my being such an excellent judge of char¬ 
acter. What irony! Conscious, of course, on his 
part; for Blunt must have known Scallon’s true 
record if I did not. Yes, I was a superb judge 
of character; there was no getting away from it. I 
had even believed in Arnold Frean. I looked at 
Scallon now, a great lumbering hog of a man with 
sagging jowls, and marveled at my obtuseness. How 
had I been able to conceive him as anything but 
what he so obviously looked? He was overdressed 
as usual; there were diamonds on his short, hairy 
fingers; and another big lump of ice on his shirt 
front. A black cigar was tilted at an aggressive 
angle in a corner of his loose mouth. He personified 
brute force. Yes, a crude bludgeon. 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


276 

But if Tim Scallon was a crude bludgeon, he 
was also an effective one, and if he hadn’t the 
subtlety to devise, say, that secret code, he was 
precisely the sort to command the criminal intel¬ 
ligence that could. He was the Black King, the Boss, 
the great Bull Elephant whose trumpet made the 
lesser predatory animals tremble. 

It was clear to me now that the nucleus of the 
Black Company was composed evidently of former 
henchmen, who, perhaps, had shared his disgrace 
and punishment. Perhaps, too, he was revenging 
himself now on society, though, for that matter, 
he had always lived by theft and violence pursued 
under the euphemistic name of politics. At any 
rate, I couldn’t have fallen into worse hands, for he 
symbolized the spirit of the Black Company. 

‘‘Well, Mr. Nosey Parker, bong swor, as the 
French say. You ain’t lookin’ like I last seen 
you. Pretty nice place this, ain’t it?” 

“Yes, not so bad; much better than the com¬ 
pany.” 

“How’s that detective bureau you were workin* 
for gettin’ on, not to mention my old friend Bill 
Harrigan? Fancy Bill sendin’ you to see me about 
old Varney! Real thoughtful of Bill!” He laughed 
and thumped me jovially on the shoulder. “Some 
little investigator, you are! Oh, I should shay sho.” 

“My mistake, Scallon,” I said. “I never thought 
you were half the scoundrel you look. I’m learning.” 


277 


I INTERVIEW HIS MAJESTY 

“You are,” he replied with sudden ferocity. “And 
take it from me, you’ll learn a lot more before 
you and me see the last of each other. You ain’t 
learned yet, you big tramp, to watch your own 
soup and leave other folks' alone. But I’m gonna 
learn you. See ?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Yes, indeed and in fact. Guys like you gimme 
the royal pip. Livin’ off dough that some stiff 
swiped in his day, and then because you ain’t 
had the nerve to swipe it yourself, or the guts to 
work for it—yeah, I know you silk-stockin’ re¬ 
formers and philanthropists like a book. Vermin, 
that’s what y’are; dirty, crawlin’ vermin! There 
ain’t one of you fit to lick the boots of the good 
boys you’ve sent to the pen by your love for 
buttin’ in and free advertisin’; and there ain’t a 
crook in the pen who wouldn’t be ashamed to be 
seen with you. Yah!” 

“I’m pleased to be classed as a philanthropist 
and reformer, Scallon. I’ve been called everything 
but that.” 

“You and your dirty money!” he bellowed. “Usin’ 
it against me, ain’t you?” 

“I’ve a right to protect myself. You started this 
show; for I’m sure I can thank you for what 
happened to me in Philly.” 

“Yeah, and it ain’t a marker to what’s gonna 
happen to you. See? You started this by buttin’ 


278 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


in where you wasn’t wanted; I’d have let you alone 
if you’d let me alone. Now you’ve gone too far. 
You started it, but I’m gonna finish it. See?” 

He stopped trumpeting long enough to remove 
his cigar and level it at me like a weapon. “I gotta 
bone to pick too with that comic-supplement, gum¬ 
shoe boob you’ve hired to sew us up. There’s been 
one standin’ on his plate for ten years, since the 
days when he was a bull at headquarters here. He’s 
gonna get what that boob you sent to Philly got, 
and you’re gonna help him get it, see?” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, y’are. You’re gonna bait the trap, Mr. 
Buttinsky. You’re gonna write the nice little letter 
that’ll bring him here.” 

“Oh, no, I’m not, Mr. Scallon.” 

“And I say y’are! I come through on every 
play I make, and when I tell you you’re gonna 
do as I say, you’re gonna do it. See? If you don’t 
see, I’ll show you—just like this.” 

He sucked voraciously at the cigar until the 
white ash tumbled off and the end glowed crimson, 
then calmly applied the hot end to my cheek. “Next 
time I’ll plunk it in your eye,” he said, as I squirmed 
and bit back a scream. “We’ll spoil your beauty, 
son, all right—make you a little more ugly than 
y’are. That’s only a little taste of what’s cornin’, 
if you’re minded to keep your tail up. Now I’ll 
leave you to mull it over; I got other fish to 


I INTERVIEW HIS MAJESTY 279 

fry. Next time I come in here you want to be in 
a responsive mood. See? I ain’t gonna argue with 
you; you do as I say or your lamps won’t be fit 
for nothin else but ash trays. Bong swor, as the 
French say, for the present.” 

To my infinite disgust, Corby came in as 
Scallon and Roupell went out, and, to my further 
disgust, he showed no signs of turning out the 
light and going to bed—there was a military cot 
by the window—like any reasonable human being. 
Of course it was necessary for my scheme that 
he should go to sleep, or at least that the room 
should be in darkness. If he sat there quietly, with 
the room lighted, the mice themselves would give 
the show away. 

So much had happened since my leaving the 
Claremont, that perhaps I thought the night more 
spent than it actually was; yet it could not be far 
from midnight. I hoped that the eye strain produced 
by reading—Corby had settled himself with a book— 
would make him sleepy, and I began to help the 
good work along by yawning energetically. It is well 
known that this is very infectious, but somehow it 
had no effect on his perverse and abnormal nature. 

“Can’t you ease these ropes a bit and give me 
a chance to sleep?” I complained at length, not 
daring to say anything about the light. “Or is that 
part of the game?” 

“No,” he said, “I guess you may sleep all you 


28 o 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


want to—if you can. Go ahead; don’t mind me. 
I hope my reading isn’t disturbing you. A very 
pleasant book this, Mr. Lawton; ‘The Murders in 
the Rue Morgue.’ Have you read it?” 

“Oh, yes. A cheerful work, as you say. Have 
you ever read ‘Forty Buckets of Blood?’ I’m sure 
you would enjoy that, too. Did you know Poe?” 

“He died long before my time. How old do you 
think I am?” 

“I don’t know. I thought Poe must have known 
you, for the principal character in that book you’re 
reading seems to have been drawn from you.” 

“You mean the ape? Fie, Mr. Lawton; that’s 
hardly complimentary.” 

“Well, if you’re not an ape, Corby, show me. 
Now what’s the use of all this Bowery melodrama? 
What is it going to bring you? Let us have a 
common-sense talk; you’ve only to name your price, 
and I give you my word-” 

“Oh, fie, sir! You are trying to corrupt me. 
But my virtue is laid up in a place where moth 
and rust—you know the quotation. It’s no use, 
Mr. Lawton; there are some things your money 
can’t buy and I happen to be one of them. I won’t 
talk to you any more; you’re a bad man, sir.” 
And he resumed his reading. So I saw my beauti¬ 
ful scheme going all to pot. 

Presently I heard the throb of a motor which 
seemed to stop opposite the house. The night being 



I INTERVIEW HIS MAJESTY 281 

very warm, the window was open, and Corby, 
switching off the light, stuck his head out—an 
excellent position if only I had been foot-loose. 
Then a door banged downstairs, there came the 
sound of voices, and finally silence. Evidently there 
was other business afoot, which accounted for my 
comparative neglect. Perhaps the other fish which 
Scallon had to fry had arrived. 

Corby switched on the light and took up his 
infernal book. “I suppose you are wondering who 
that is?” he said. 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, I’m sure you are. Well, I’ll tell you; it’s 
Mr. Varney. It would be a pity not to satisfy your 
inveterate curiosity.” 

The knowledge that the Black King was Tim 
Scallon pointed a probable solution to the mystery 
of Theodore Varney’s connection with this crime 
trust. Although at this time I knew nothing of 
the jail sentence that Scallon had received, or how 
his ring had been broken up, his words to me had 
shown obviously a bitter hatred of reformers and 
philanthropists. It was quite possible that for some 
reason he had become Varney’s deadly enemy, just 
as he was Blunt’s—something I had never suspected. 
Perhaps Blunt and Varney had supplied evidence 
against him. 

I had to bear in mind that all Varney’s work 
for the public good was done clandestinely, and that 


282 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


therefore in any case his name would not have 
figured in the case publicly. Yet the theory that 
Scallon was out for revenge against him, while 
logical enough, did not explain everything. I had 
yet to find where Joyce fitted in, and Frean too, 
for that matter. If merely to decoy Varney into 
the hands of Scallon, they could have accomplished 
it weeks ago. No, there was an important, an all- 
important part of the puzzle which I had missed 
completely. 

Even while I thus assured myself, there came 
from below the awful tortured cry of a man goaded 
by pain to the point beyond human endurance. It 
sent the echoes of the old house on the rampage, 
and then died away as suddenly. 

“Ah, Mr. Varney is tuning up his pipes. Must 
have slipped his gag,” said Corby composedly, but 
with the voracious sparkle in his dead eye. “Your 
turn next, Mr. Lawton. Get all the rest you can; 
you’ll need it.” 

All my fear had returned, and with that dreadful 
cry ringing in my ears, I was convinced that it was 
Varney. At the thought of that frail old man being 
put to the torture by these ghouls, I went berserk. 
I strained at my bonds in a sort of insane fury, 
putting forth all my strength, and suddenly the 
ropes about my wrists snapped. The mice had 
done their work. 


CHAPTER XXII 
fool’s luck 

K TOW it pains me even yet to write of what fol- 
lowed. Having conceived and contrived such 
an ingenious method of escape—and I needn’t pre¬ 
tend that I don’t think it pretty clever of me— 
why couldn’t I have utilized it to the full? Why 
was I not able to free my hands without Corby 
knowing? Why couldn’t I have suddenly sprung 
upon him, left him bound and gagged, rushed to 
the rescue of Varney, and rounded up the whole 
gang single-handed? It might easily have happened 
thus, but it didn’t. Why had that rope to snap 
at the moment it did, when Corby was wide awake 
and even looking at me? I’m sure I don’t know; 
things seem to happen adversely like that to some 
people, and I suppose it was down in the book of 
fate that I was never destined to play the hero. 
At any rate the result was disastrous. 

To properly understand What followed you must 
remember how I was tied; my feet were bound 
behind me and fastened to my wrists so that I was 
like a bent bow, and when, without warning, the 
rope snapped, I was like that bow suddenly released. 
I was lying on my side at the time, and a six-foot 


284 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


bow at full tension creates quite a disturbance when 
that tension is suddenly released. The result was 
that my legs flew down, my arms up, and I shot 
from the couch to the floor where I skidded like 
a tin Lizzie on a slippery road. The next moment 
Corby had taken a flying leap on my chassis. 

Now my feet were still bound fast together, 
though my hands were free, but even with this 
drawback, I think I could have accounted satisfac¬ 
torily for Corby—I had the makings of a good 
strangle hold on him—if it had not been for the 
entrance of Frean and a man whom I saw to be 
Joyce. Evidently they had heard the small riot. 
Frean danced around and offered advice, but the 
intensely practical Joyce lost no time in whipping 
a slung shot from his pocket and letting me have 
it, a very scientific wallop that didn’t even break 
my scalp, but which caused me instantly to abandon 
the ambition to make Corby a corpse. 

When I regained interest in the proceedings, I 
was back on the couch, hog-tied anew, while Corby 
was examining the broken rope. “Cheese!” he 
exclaimed. “For shame, Mr. Lawton,” his dead 
eyes regarding me with mild reproof. “And I 
believe I’ve seen mice about. Tut, tut, this will 
never do. You’re always trying to slip something 
under me, get me in bed with the Company. It 
isn’t fair, it isn’t right. I could almost believe you 
dislike me, Mr. Lawton.” 


FOOL’S LUCK 


285 


“You shouldn’t overexert yourself so unnecessarily 
on such a hot night, Lawton,” added Frean with a 
nervous giggle. “You know I’ve warned you about 
apoplexy. Do be reasonable.” 

“Hope I didn’t hurt you, sir,” put in Joyce with 
mock concern. “You’ll be glad to hear, sir, that 
I got that Eyetalian Who was gunning for me the 
other night. Yes, sir, I had him arrested. And 
have you found out yet, sir, what it means by 
‘Varney moves on second?’ Oh, yes, I saw you 
pick up the message that day; very thoughtful of 
you, sir.” 

I hardly heard their gibes for I was waiting to 
hear that awful cry again. The fact that Joyce 
was here showed beyond all doubt that Corby had 
told the truth and that Theodore Varney was in¬ 
deed the victim of these scoundrels. And if Varney, 
what about Miss Gelette? Was she here, too? 
She went everywhere with her uncle, never let him 
out of her sight; even with the help of that smug 
and smiling villain, Joyce, I could hardly see how 
they had been able to decoy Varney without her 
knowledge. 

“Frean,” I said, “what is this ghastly game you’re 
trying to work on poor Varney? What is it all 
about? Surely it won’t do any harm to tell me 
now. If it’s money you want-” 

Again there came that dreadful cry, against which 
I couldn’t even stop my ears. Frean paled and 


286 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


looked rather sick, but Joyce grinned and said cheer¬ 
fully “the old bird’s got a fine register.” 

Corby nodded, head at a meditative angle, the 
voracious sparkle in his eye. “I like that note. 
I wish I was down there. You’re missing some¬ 
thing. Trade you jobs, if you like.” 

“Daren’t,” said Joyce and got up. “I’d better 
beat it.” 

“Frean,” I cried, “for Heaven’s sake stop that 
hellish business down there! I can’t appeal to these 
brutes, but surely I can to you! You must have 
some decency left. You said I’d cry for mercy; 
well, I am. You see me now, if that’s any satis¬ 
faction. Tell Scallon I’ll do anything, pay any¬ 
thing-” 

“You will in any case,” he broke in with a 
white sneer, “and I’ve got nothing to do with it.” 

“You have! You can’t salve your conscience 
that way. You pretended to be Varney’s friend; 
you dined with him—why, man, you wouldn’t tor¬ 
ture a dog like that! He’s an old man, an in¬ 
curable invalid. Can’t they even let him die in 
peace ? Go down and tell Scallon he can have 
every penny I own-” 

“I’ve got nothing to do with it!’’ he almost 
screamed. “Do you think they’d let me interfere? 
What do you take me for? Come along, Joyce.” 
And he almost ran from the room. 

“A very tender fellow,” commented Corby. “A 



FOOL’S LUCK 


287 

little weak in the stomach; but he’s coming on 
finely. He’ll make a good member when he’s had 
a little more experience. Quite a capable actor, too, 
don’t you think? We all have our talents.” And 
picking up his book he sat down on the foot of 
the cot and leaned against the window. 

I found it impossible to keep my thoughts away 
from Corby’s words about it being my turn next, 
and Scallon’s reference about my eyes and ash 
trays. Apart from the smarting burn on my cheek 
—I carry the deep scar to this day—there was 
ample evidence that Tim Scallon was a man of 
his word, as he claimed. 

Now, I’m no martyr—I think I’ve hinted at this 
before—and I knew it. Frankly, I don’t care for 
that sort of thing, especially if you have to take 
it on an empty stomach and after a preliminary 
hammering. I’ve always admired the early Christian 
martyrs immensely, but admiration never went to 
the point of wanting to emulate them. I should 
like to believe I had the nerve and stamina to suffer 
to the last gasp for the sake of a principle, but 
at heart I knew quite well that Nero would have 
missed making a night light of me, or a meal ticket 
for the lions, if my tongue had known its business; 
so I contemplated with gloomy misgiving my coming 
interview with the Black King. 

I didn’t want to betray Blunt, and I had made 
up my mind to suffer a lot; I meant to stick it to 


288 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


the finish if I could, just as old Varney was stick¬ 
ing it, but I wouldn’t have taken any bets on my 
doing so. In fact, I had a humiliating and sneak¬ 
ing conviction that I’d do about anything before 
my eyes became ash trays, and this knowledge did 
not increase my self-respect or my love for those 
who had placed me in such a position. 

All this time I was listening, and so was Corby, 
for another of those awful cries from below stairs; 
but none came and Corby finally picked up his 
book with a yawn. 

“Must have lost consciousness/’ he said. “Stub¬ 
born old bird. It is remarkable, Mr. Lawton, how 
much pain the human anatomy can stand. History 
is replete with some very fine examples of fortitude. 
On the face of it, you should be able to stand 
far more than old Varney; you are a better physical 
machine. But then one has to consider the spirit 
as well as flesh. I’ve known big, hulking brutes 
like you to faint if they cut their own finger. I 
hope you aren’t that kind; I hope you won’t dis¬ 
appoint me.” 

“You are too grisly, Corby. You’re overdoing 
it. It doesn’t frighten me, I assure you. In fact, 
you’re simply a bore.” 

He smiled pensively and resumed reading. 

Now, as I looked at him, raging silently at my 
own utter helplessness, a strange thing happened, 
so strange and startling, indeed, that I wondered 


FOOL’S LUCK 


289 

for a moment if I were dreaming. There was not 
a breath of air in the humid night, and yet I saw 
the blind of the open window at Corby’s back 
move slightly. I must have dreamed it—but, no, 
there it moved again. I was sure of it. 

Corby looked at me over his book, as though 
attracted by my concentrated stare. “You look 
interested, Mr. Lawton. What’s up?” 

“I was only wondering,” I said, “Why you didn’t 
go into the moving picture game. You’re so beauti¬ 
ful. Your features should be perpetuated on the 
screen.” I had to say something like that, for the 
blind had moved again, and I could hardly trust 
my voice. 

“No more beautiful than you,” he said. “We are 
a pair. But after to-night, I should be the more 
beautiful of the two. Yes, indeed. It is well, 

Mr. Lawton-” He suddenly gurgled and choked, 

for two hands had shot from under the blind and 
got him fast by the throat. 

I never saw a quicker, neater bit of work. Being 
a vindictive sort where my enemies are concerned, 
I like to remember and ponder over that picture. 
Corby’s startled, helpless expression quickly changed 
to one of rage and agony, as that viselike grip bit 
into his neck; he tried to pull his knife, but he 
hadn’t a chance in the world, seated as he was 
below the window, and with those powerful hands 
gripping him from behind. 



290 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


In a trice he was choked half senseless, slammed 
back on the cot, and then smothered as a wiry little 
figure followed the capable hands. Then, to hurry 
matters, the newcomer whipped a billy from his 
hip pocket, and tapped Mr. Corby scientifically on 
his bulging forehead; whereupon the proceedings 
ended as suddenly as they had begun. 

Jimmie Blunt, somehow looking as neat and well 
dressed as a theatrical star, for all his bit of 
rough-and-tumble, and certainly as cool as the pro¬ 
verbial cucumber, winked at me out of a blue eye 
that was no longer suspiciously sleepy, but sparkling 
and alert. 

“How’d that little act do for the movies?” he 
lisped, with his faint, winning smile. “Couldn’t 
have had it staged better to order. Thanks for 
your help, Lawton. Hope they didn’t maul you 
much.” 

“My help?” I exclaimed, as he slashed through 
my bonds with a six-inch clasp knife. “A fat lot 
of help I’ve been! How in thunder did you-” 

“Soft pedal,” he warned, dropping his own voice 
still lower. “We haven’t time for post mortems 
now. Yes, I know Roupell, Frean, and Scallon 
are here, also Joyce and Varney-” 

“Then it was Varney! They’ve been torturing 
him, Blunt-” 

“Sorry. But I guess they didn’t get very far-” 

He cocked an ear like a listening terrier as a door 





FOOL’S LUCK 


291 

slammed downstairs, and there came Roupell’s voice 
and the rumbling trumpet of the Black King. 

“They’re coming up!” I said. 

“Good!” said Jimmie. “Quick!” he added. “Back 
as you were. Here, take these nippers and keep 
them under you; snap ’em when I line ’em up. 
That’s it.” 

While I lay down on the couch in my old position, 
Blunt worked in the swift, silent, effective fashion 
with which he had polished off Corby. There wasn’t 
a wasted motion. 

With incredible speed and dexterity he bound and 
gagged Corby with the cords that had lately dec¬ 
orated me, then unceremoniously shoved him out 
of sight beneath the cot. After this he took up a 
position against the wall beside the door, so that 
when the latter should open, it would conceal him. 

He had hardly done so when the stairs began 
to complain under the weight of two such behemoths 
as the Black King and his chief lieutenant. Evi¬ 
dently something had gone wrong, for the bull ele¬ 
phant was angry and trumpeting loudly. 

“Blast him!” we heard him say. “I’ll sweat it 

out of th’ old rip if it takes a year! I’ll keep 

touchin’ him up till he comes through, or my name 

ain’t Scallon! He’s gonna part, all right; you see 
if he don’t. Any guy can stand for one knock-out, 
but it’s th’ keepin’ at it with no let-up that get 

em. 


292 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


He kicked the door open and lumbered into the 
room, followed by Roupell; and evidently so secure 
did both feel that neither bothered to close the door. 

“Where th’ blazes is Corby ?” demanded Scallon, 
turning on his lieutenant, after shooting me a scowl- 
ing glance. “What kind of discipline is this? Why 
ain’t he here?” 

“I don’t know. I gave him his orders,” faltered 
Roupell. “He should be here.” And his eyes began 
to rove as if he expected to discover Corby on the 
walls or ceiling. 

“Should be here! It’s your business to see he 
is,” rasped Scallon. He removed his cigar and 
bellowed “Corby!” his mottled face growing purple. 

Then the door slammed and showed Blunt with 
a leveled automatic resting on his hip. “Put ’em 
up, Tim!” he said crisply. “You, too, Rose. Up 
with ’em, quick! You know me, so none of your 
soapy work. I’ll be glad of an excuse to save the 
State the expense of another trial.” 

As the twin mountains of flesh were standing with 
their backs to me, I couldn’t observe, unfortunately, 
by their expressions what they felt at receiving this 
startling surprise package. But whatever their emo¬ 
tions, however desperate, courageous, and resource¬ 
ful they evidently knew of old this quiet, dapper 
little man, whose eyes were now hard and bright as 
blue diamonds. 

Reluctantly, very reluctantly but surely their hands 


FOOL’S LUCK 


293 


were elevated, and, keeping their persons between 
me and the watchful .38, I snapped on the bracelets. 
Then Blunt frisked them. 

The port-wine complexion of Roupell—or Rose, 
as Blunt had called him—had become more the color 
of absinth. He sagged at the hinges, and looked for 
once more than his age. But I must say Scallon 
took it well; brute beast though he was, and foul 
with crime, he had the animal courage which receives 
its due everywhere. 

“Well, Jimmie, count one to you,” he said casually, 
as if marking up a billiard game. But his eyes 
were raging. “You always did play in fool’s luck.” 

“Yes,” agreed Blunt, who never gloated, “I always 
did, Tim. If you can’t be clever, be lucky. It’s 
just as good, or better.” 

“Butted in on a lone hand, eh? Well, whatja got 
on me ?” demanded Scallon, beginning to trumpet. 
His eyes were now shrewd and speculating. “You 
got nothin’ on me but th’ kidnappin’—if you can 
call it that—of this big tramp here. An’ that’ll 
take some provin’. You can’t hang nothin’ on me, 

an’ you know it. A private bull like you ain’t 

got no right to make an arrest, anyway. Flash your 
warrant. I demand to see it. I know my rights, 

an’ I got th’ coin an’ pull to see I get ’em ” 

“You’ll get them, Tim; don’t worry about that. 
Inspector Lannigan’s been playing in fool’s luck, 
too, and so has Bright, of the secret service. They 



294 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


should be here any minute now. The joint’s been 
pinched out, and there’s a hurry-up wagon round 
the corner waiting for you. They pulled your Phila¬ 
delphia headquarters about an hour ago.” 

“Yah!” jeered Scallon. “Whatja take me for? 
That stuff has whiskers on it. Think I’ll fall for 
it?” 

But his expression changed swiftly as there came 
from below, from all sides of the house, in fact, 
the crash of splintered glass and rending wood. 
There followed sounds of a small-sized riot, several 
pistol shots, and then comparative silence. 

“There’s your answer, Tim,” said Blunt laconi¬ 
cally. “We’ve been lucky again, and it’s all over 
but the lining up. You and Roupell—as he prefers 
to call himself—don’t want to miss the roll call, so 
beat it.” 

As they were herded through the door, Scallon 
turned, his nonchalance gone, and his mottled face 
now distorted with rage. “I’ll get you for this, 
Blunt!” he said thickly. “I’ll get you some day if 
it takes a lifetime! I’ll get you if it’s th’ last 
thing I do. There ain’t nothin’ in this world can 
keep me from settlin’ with you!” 

“Perhaps not,” said Jimmie soberly. “Mean¬ 
while-” And he prodded him with the pistol. 

The house was simply swarming with uniformed 
police and plain-clothes men, among the latter being, 
as I learned later, a number of Federal officers. 



FOOL’S LUCK 


295 


We hadn’t gone far along the corridor when we met 
a grizzled, gold-laced official, whom I recognized, 
from pictures I’d seen, as Inspector Lannigan, of 
the New York force. 

I discovered afterward that the solemn, cherubic 
individual in citizen’s dress who accompanied him 
was the noted Chief Bright, of the secret service. 
He was famed for his silence, which he now bore 
out, for I didn’t hear him say a single word through 
the subsequent proceedings. 

“Good work, Jimmie!” said Lannigan familiarly, 
for Blunt had formerly served under him. “It’s 
a clean bag and only one casualty. What about 
the man Corby?” 

“Back in that room, all ready for shipping. You 
boys’ll find him under the bed. Where’s Mr. Var¬ 
ney?” 

“In there,” said Lannigan, thumbing toward a 
door at the end of the corridor. “They put him 
over the jumps, but he never blabbed. A game 
old gentleman, Jimmie; as fine and game a one 
as I ever saw. I only wish we could have got here 
before they hurted him, the dirty blackguards!” 

He whirled on Scallon, his eyes flaming like an 
old war eagle’s, and his Irish parentage more in 
evidence. “Ye white-livered swine!” he said. 
“Them haythens in Beljum is Christian gentlemen 
to you! Get along down there wid the rest of 
your scum!” 


296 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Down there” was the lower hall, where I 
glimpsed Joyce and two others—probably my assail¬ 
ants of the taxi—standing handcuffed, and in charge 
of several officers; and Scallon, propelled by a hearty 
kick from the irate Lannigan, joined them on all 
fours. Never was a king dethroned so completely. 

We entered the room pointed out by Inspector 
Lannigan, but I saw no sign of Mr. Varney, its 
sole occupants being a couple of Federal officers and 
a man whom I had never seen before. He was past 
middle age, and very distinguished looking. He 
lay on a couch, his feet naked, and the sole of one 
of them a mass of raw blisters. The sight was 
horrible, and I wished I had helped to kick Scallon 
donwstairs. 

After a whispered word with one of the officers, 
Blunt beckoned me out and the door was closed. 
“The ambulance will be here soon,” he said. “The 
best thing you and I can do is to beat it home. 
The show’s over.” 

“But where’s Mr. Varney?” I demanded. “I 
must see him. And who’s that poor fellow in 
there ?” 

“Why, that’s Mr. Varney.” 

“Nonsense!” I exclaimed. “You’ve made a big 
mistake. I know Varney, and that fellow-” 

“Is his brother, and the only Varney that ever 
figured in this case,” finished Blunt, the ghost of 
a twinkle in his blue eye. 



CHAPTER XXIII 


BLUNT EXPLAINS 

EX)R a time I was prevented from inquiring 
further into this amazing matter of Varney’s 
brother, a person, by the way, whose existence I 
had forgotten, I learned later that he had been 
transferred to the room we had just quitted, follow¬ 
ing his first ordeal by fire, which had taken place 
in the kitchen. 

As Blunt and I now passed downstairs to the 
lower hall, we saw in what was evidently the 
dining room the body of a man stretched on the 
table, a policeman standing guard over it. It was 
covered with a sheet, yet something familiar in the 
outline, I cannot tell why or how, caused me to 
pause. 

“Is that the fellow who was killed ?” I asked 
rather fatuously. 

“Yes, sir,” said the policeman. 

I entered the room and lifted the sheet. Yes, I 
had been right; it was Arnold Frean. What a 
strange working of chance that he should prove 
the only one to be killed! No doubt but that there 
were others in the house who deserved such a fate 
far more than he. I looked at him, his face now 


298 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


ennobled by death, all the vice and meanness gone, 
and thought of what might have been, had he only 
taken the right turning. How all too easy it is 
to take the wrong! I wondered, thinking of those 
far-off days in Princeton, had he ever had an ink¬ 
ling of such an end to the hectic story he was 
even then writing in the book of life—to die here, 
shot down like a dog, an associate of criminals. 
But who among us has an inkling of his own fate? 

“Well,” said Blunt, baring his head, “he has 
settled all earthly debts. Perhaps it’s best that he 
went out when and as he did.” 

Perhaps; and yet, Heaven knows, I would it had 
been otherwise. My heart was heavy, and I sud¬ 
denly felt weary and old. “How did it happen?” 
I asked the policeman. 

“It wasn’t none of our doin’,” he replied, and 
then he added ingenuously: “We didn’t get a 
chanst.” 

“You mean he shot himself?” queried Blunt. 
“Suicide, eh?” 

“No, sir,” said the officer, “he shot himself all 
right, but the funny part was he didn’t mean to. 
It was like this, sir: He was here by his lonely 
in this room when me and another of the boys 
come through the windy on the signal. He pulled 
a gun, but instead of thro win’ down on us, he 
kept wavin’ it around like a flag while he hollered 
blue murder and jumped all over the shop like a 


BLUNT EXPLAINS 


299 


crazy flea, us leppin’ after him same’s a merry game 
of tag. Then he tripped and fell, and the gun went 
off and killed him quicker’n winkin’. I never seen 
anythin’ like it. He must have been drunk or 
bughouse, mebbe both.” 

But I knew that Frean had only been drunk with 
fear; he had been scared out of his wits. Yes, 
best perhaps that the end had come as it did, best 
at least for his people. With the help of Blunt, 
I could hush it up so far as the public was con¬ 
cerned. And, indeed, I may add here that, with 
the exception of a small, and for the most part 
official circle none has known the real Arnold Frean’s 
connection with the notorious Black Company, and 
the true incidents leading up to his accidental death. 

Owing to the obscure and isolated situation of 
the house, we weren’t troubled with the attentions 
of inquisitive neighbors or newspaper men, and when 
the ambulance from Roosevelt had come and gone, 
and the patrol wagon was loading up with the 
Black King and his courtiers, Blunt and I left 
the house. 

“I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet for saving 
me from a very unpleasant interview with Mr. 
Scallon,” I said, as we headed for Broadway and 
civilization. “I’ve been a fearful ass, Blunt, and 
deserved the little I got.” 

He smiled. “Oh, we can all be wise after the 


300 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


event; and Frean’s acting would have fooled any¬ 
body.” 

“How did you know about that?” I demanded. 

“Oh, a little bird told me, as Roupell would say. 
I agree with you that he’s an excellent mimic. 
He’ll have time now to learn how to imitate the 
voice of a hammer on stones. He’s neither too old 
nor too fat for the road gang. It should do him a 
world of good.” 

At the thought of the bogus Falstaff forced to 
such manual labor, I felt considerably cheered. 
“He’ll have a hard time getting a funny story 
out of that,” I said. “But what about this brother 
of Varney’s? What about everything, in fact? 
You’ve got to tell me a lot.” 

“Only on the condition that you keep it under 
your hat, Lawton.” Somehow we had forgotten 
each other’s prefix. “I don’t mean simply about 
Frean. For certain adequate reasons this business 
about Silas Varney won’t be made public.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, did you know he was a prominent member 
of the United States embassy in Berlin?” 

“Lord, no! You don’t mean it? I remember 
hearing he held some government job, but I’d for¬ 
gotten all about him. I see now why Bright and 
the Federal government had a hand in this. Then, 
after all, it had something to do with this Prussian 
propaganda? Scallon was hired-” 



BLUNT EXPLAINS 


301 


“Not at all,” said Blunt. “You’re away oft. I’m 
sure the Black Company wouldn’t have hesitated 
to hire itself out for any kind of dirty work, pro¬ 
viding it was profitable enough. But they aren’t 
pikers, and had a better graft than that. Scallon 
always had large ideas about other people’s money, 
and he was out to make a killing.” 

“In what way?” I asked, wondering what it 
could be. 

“Well,” said Blunt, “the idea was this: What do 
you think it would be worth if you had private 
information—you alone, mind—that this European 
war was going to end on a certain date? What 
would be the effect on the stock market, even if 
there was only a good possibility?” 

Suddenly I understood. “What would it be 
worth? Why, I could sit into a game of freeze- 
out with old John D.! Jerusalem! Do you mean 
to say-” 

“Every word of it,” nodded Blunt. “Pretty big, 
eh? You see the Central Powers want peace if 
they can get it without paying too much. What 
their offer is, what the chances of peace are, none 
knows but the Wilhelmstrasse, the American am¬ 
bassador in Berlin, and the man you saw with 
the toasted foot—Silas Q. Varney.” 

“By George, Blunt, I never thought of anything 
like this. I’m beginning to see the whole thing. 

I suppose President Wilson is to act as inter- 



302 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


mediary? And they wouldn’t trust it to the cables 
or in cipher with one of their own men? No, 
of course they wouldn’t; they were afraid of a 
leak.” 

‘‘That’s the idea,” said Blunt as we turned into 
the Avenue and headed downtown. “No, they weren’t 
taking any chances. It was to go by word of 
mouth, through the American ambassador, and Var¬ 
ney was the one chosen to convey it here.” 

“How did Scallon get wind of it?” 

“I don’t know; of course none knew of it here 
outside the President himself. What I’ve told you 
I got from Bright who had it from Varney. But 
the tentacles of this crime octopus reach far and 
deep. We’ve only nabbed the head and part of 
the body, you might say. It’s certain they’ve agents 
on the Continent whom we’ve yet to discover and 
run down. These agents cabled Scallon their in¬ 
side information and the date of Varney’s sailing 
—and that’s what was meant by that code message, 
‘Varney moves on second.’ Scallon passed it on 
to Joyce.” 

“Joyce brought Silas Varney here? But how?” 

“You’ll see as I go on. Now I don’t know 
whether Scallon simply meant to sell this informa¬ 
tion he aimed to force from Varney, or whether 
he meant to operate on the market himself through 
a snide brokerage house that Roupell’s interested 


BLUNT EXPLAINS 


303 


in. He had the capital and organization, and in 
either event, stood to make a killing.” 

“Then Theodore Varney never figured in the 
case at all?” 

“Oh, he did,” replied Blunt. “He was an inno¬ 
cent but important factor. He knew his brother 
was coming over on a visit here, but of course, 
he didn’t know the true reason of that visit. Silas 
was to stay at the house on the Rumson Road 
as his guest, a natural arrangement, and one which 
suited Silas all around. For you remember that 
Shadow Lawn, the summer home of the President 
this year, is in the immediate neighborhood. Well, 
that’s where Frean and Joyce came in. Theodore 
Varney, seeing no reason why he shouldn’t, naturally 
mentioned to an old friend like Frean the coming 
visit of his brother; or if he didn’t, then Miss 
Gelette did. Anyway, Frean found out a whole 
lot that was necessary.” 

“I’m sure he did. Even I heard from the servants 
some talk of the expected visit, but I never thought 
twice about it. I thought Silas Varney was coming 
on from Washington maybe, and that he probably 
held a post-office job. Naturally, they didn’t con¬ 
fide all their family affairs to me. They’re a close 
corporation.” 

“Yes, and you couldn’t be expected to guess every¬ 
thing. You found out an invaluable lot as it was. 
But it was reckoned by the Black Company from 


3°4 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


the start that Theodore Varney would meet his 
brother at the dock and bring him home in his 
car, and Joyce was to see that the car went some¬ 
where else. Of course it was expected that secret- 
servce men would be there to keep an eye on Silas, 
but as his mission wasn’t to be known, they couldn’t 
guard him publicly. They wouldn’t suspect any¬ 
thing, either, Silas being with his brother, and his 
car run by a chauffeur who had the best credentials. 
But if the secret-service men tailed them, careful 
plans had been laid to deal with them. Everything 
had been mapped out carefully beforehead, as care¬ 
fully as the surprise Germany sprung on Europe. 
They knew, from the time Silas’ boat sailed, that 
she couldn’t pass quarantine before this evening, and 
therefore they’d have a better chance at night. 
These irregular sailings, the result of the war, suited 
them down to the ground. 

“Well, Varney and his niece came up in the car 
yesterday-” 

“Yes, I know.” And I thought injuredly that 
Brenda Gelette might have explained to me more 
fully the nature of the business that had brought 
them to town. But then I remembered that she 
hadn’t remained very long in a confiding mood. 

“Luck seemed to be playing into the Company’s 
hands,” continued Blunt. “The boat was due at 
eight thirty, special customs arrangement having 
been made, and Silas Varney-” 




BLUNT EXPLAINS 


305 


“Wait a minute,” I said. “I understand every¬ 
thing so far, but let us leave Silas Varney and work 
back to him. I want to know how you figured 
this thing out. It’s beyond me.” 

“Not when you understand it,” he replied. “Tim 
Scallon calls it fool’s luck, but it was just plain 
hard work, Lawton. I’ve told you the story so 
far just as if all along I was dead sure of what 
was going to happen—but I wasn’t; not by any 
means. I had only suspicions and theories. I’d 
no more idea than the man in the moon, or you 
yourself, what particular use Scallon meant to make 
of Silas Varney, though I was sure he meant to 
kidnap him. When I was satisfied it wasn’t Theo¬ 
dore Varney the Company was after, then it fol¬ 
lowed logically it must be his brother. That was 
obvious.” 

“Yes, now that you say so. But it didn’t seem 
obvious to me.” 

“Because you didn’t think of looking Silas Varney 
up. When I found that he held that government 
job in Berlin, and had sailed on the second, the 
whole thing looked pretty clear. It explained that 
code message, why Joyce had been planted with 
Varney, why Frean had been snooping around— 
everything. Knowing Scallon of old, as I did, 
it didn’t take any great intelligence to guess that 
he meant to make capital out of some information 
Silas Varney was bringing over.” 


3 °6 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Yes, but how did you know that Scallon was 
the Black King?” 

“That’s where the hard work came in—routine 
stuff, you know,” said Blunt with a shrug. “If 
I gave you the whole works piecemeal, all the 
clews we ran down, all the bloomers we opened, 
Fd be talking for a week. But I got my first line 
from this fellow, Howard Roupell, whom you’d 
mentioned. He had changed a lot since I last saw 
him, put on fat, and grown that beard, but I knew 
him for ‘Andy’ Rose, one of Scallon’s old hench¬ 
men. This fellow Corby—that isn’t his real name, 
of course—is another. That discovery sent us 
looking up Scallon, that and the fact that you’d 
asked him about Fremstad and Varney. He was 
supposed to be living in retirement, repenting of 
all his old sins. But we found his humble home 
was only a stall, that he had half a dozen big 
bank balances under various names, and that there 
was a swell house in another part of Philly, with 
a fake entrance, where he spent most of his time. 
It was clear he hadn’t turned over any new leaf, 
and was getting big graft from somewhere—and, 
by the way, running chinks and smuggling hop was 
a side line of the company. That’s evidently what 
took your friend Ashton to the Chinese quarter. 
He may have been decoyed, but I think he stumbled 
on some evidence connecting Joyce or Scallon with 
this organized crime trust, struck a trail which. 


BLUNT EXPLAINS 


307 


properly followed up, might have led to anything. 
And they put him away before he could use it.” 

“How did you know I was going to be jobbed 
by Frean to-night ?” 

“I suspected something of the sort, but didn’t 
actually know until it happened. You see, I heard 
every word that passed; there’s a dictaphone in your 
study, and it leads into the vacant apartment next 
door. I had it installed one night when you and 
Watkins were out. The manager of the Belvedere’s 
an old friend of mine.” 

“Well, you’re a fine, trusting bird! Did you 
suspect me?” 

He laughed shamelessly. “No, but you must ad¬ 
mit you hadn’t shown much enthusiasm about obey¬ 
ing orders—I know all the times you tried to ditch 
Nast. Besides, your acting would be more con¬ 
vincing if you weren’t wise; this dictaphone stunt 
is pretty old stuff, but it still makes good if the 
enemy doesn’t suspect. It was put there to get 
evidence, and for your own protection, for I knew 
that before Silas Varney arrived the Company would 
make a stiff effort to put you away. They were 
hard up, anyway, for accurate information, to find 
out just how much you knew and what steps you’d 
taken. Frean spoke the truth when he told you 
they weren’t sure if you’d engaged me. We man¬ 
aged to keep everything so quiet that we had ’em 
guessing.” 


308 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Then, if you were virtually in the next room, 
heard all that Frean said, and took it down, why 
did you let him work his game? Why didn’t you 
step in and collar him?” 

“Why is a crook given enough rope to hang 
himself?” countered Jimmie, with a grin. “That 
was the whole point of the game—to let them 
nab you and Silas Varney. We needed this red- 

hot evidence, and we got it-” 

“So did Silas Varney, and I guess he knows 
just how red-hot it was.” 

“Yes, that was a slip-up we couldn’t help—not 
getting to the house quite soon enough. But you 
can’t bank on everything. I followed your taxi, 
but, as luck would have it, our engine stalled and 
held us up. Bright and Lannigan should have got 
there on time, only they had unexpected troubles 
of their own, Joyce and his pals ditching ’em a bit 
better than we had planned. So we all got there 
together. There was a risk of their killing Varney 

and you if we didn’t get the jump on them-” 

“Hold on; we’ve worked back to Varney but 
you’ve skipped a lot. I want to know what hap¬ 
pened at the dock.” 




CHAPTER XXIV 


I WIN THE QUEEN 

«\V7ELL” resumed Blunt, “I told you the boat 
* * docked at eight thirty, special customs ar¬ 
rangements having been made, and when Miss 
Gelette got back to the Waldorf—I believe she 
had been in the company of an ancient female 
friend whom she met by chance, and who carried 
her off and simply forced her to remain for 
dinner-” 

“Eve been called everything in my day but an 
ancient female,” I interrupted. “As it seems there 
isn’t much you don’t know, I take it that you’re 
fully aware that Miss Gelette dined with me at 
the Claremont ?” 

“Oh, sure,” said my companion blithely. “I’m 
only relating the story that an ingenuous and 
repentant niece told to a certain sick and irate 
uncle. I’ve no use for a woman who can’t tell 
a well-constructed lie on occasion,” he added paren¬ 
thetically. “When Miss Gelette got back, she found 
her uncle down with an attack of acute indigestion, 
and hopping mad at having been left alone so 
long. The house physician was in attendance and 
Mr. Varney felt so ill that he couldn’t go to the 
dock. Therefore, Miss Gelette went alone-” 




3!o 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Alone! Great Scott, Blunt! Why didn’t you 
tell me-” 

“Hold on; you needn’t break my arm, old man. 
Don’t excite yourself. She’s quite all right, and 
safe as a church. Well, to proceed, she went alone 
in the car, having no suspicion of Joyce, even if 
he was being stalked by a jealous Italian. Yes, 
I know about that little affair of the blow-out. The 
idea was for Silas Varney to put up at the Waldorf 
for the night, owing to his brother’s illness. Now 
Bright had been tipped off, but Joyce and his pals 
were too slick for him; they ditched him and his 
men, chucked Miss Gelette out in a side street, and 
made off with the bound and gagged Silas—same 
trick they worked on you. Everything worked just 
as they had planned, and this business of yours 
helped them; at least it kept me from being on hand. 
Well, as I say, there was a risk of their killing 
Varney and you if we didn’t get the jump on them, 
and so when I got to the house it was arranged 
for me to first sneak in and short circuit any such 
plan. There was a ladder with the crowbars and 
axes in the patrol wagon, and so I skinned up and 
the rest was easy.” 

“Yes, when you say it like that. There’s an 
apology due you by me, Blunt. For all your repu¬ 
tation, I was beginning to think you’d been over¬ 
rated, and that you were asleep on the job. I 
take it all back. You’ve simply done wonders-” 




I WIN THE QUEEN 311 

“Not I,” he laughed. “It wasn’t any one-man 
job, as I warned you. Lannigan, Bright, the boys 
in blue of Philadelphia and Boston—all had as much 
to do with it as I. It was simply organization 
and hard work, and we’d have been nowhere but 
for you. It was you who started the whole business, 
and only for you, Scallon would have got away 
with his game, and the Black Company would have 
been more flourishing than ever. A whole lot of 
good certainly came from that wild jag of yours; 
but I’m not saying the moral of the tale is, 'Go 
thou and do likewise.’ ” 

“What about Theodore Varney and his niece?” 
I asked. “How much do they know? And where 
is Miss Gelette now?” 

“At her hotel. That’s what helped to delay Bright 
and Lannigan—the old gag of throwing food to 
the pursuing wolves. They happened upon her after 
Joyce had doubled on them—I believe that’s some 
car of Varney’s, and that Joyce must have been 
born with a steering wheel in his fist—and they 
detailed a couple of men to see her home. Yes, 
of course she knows her uncle’s been kidnaped, and 
I’ll stop in and tell the sequel. There’s no harm in 
her knowing the inside of it. Of course, Scallon 
and his crowd will have to stand their trial on the 
Varney charge; it’s only the inside stuff about his 
mission here that won’t be made public.” 

He glanced at his watch as we reached Thirty- 


312 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


fourth Street. “Close on twelve. Do you think 
it's too late for an ancient female friend to tell 
the sequel to Miss Gelette instead of me?” 

“You bet it is,” I said. “No, it wouldn’t do 
at all. I had no idea we were so near the Waldorf; 
I should have been walking the other way. I’ve 
got to beat it.” 

“I’ve got work to do, Lawton, and you haven’t. 
Go in and tell her-” 

“Far be it from me, Blunt; she wouldn’t see me 
no matter what time it was. You see, there was 
—er—a sort of misunderstanding at the dinner. 
When you’re at the explaining business, you might 
put in a good word for me—in fact, several words, 
a whole poem. I need it. If you can manage to 
represent me as outclassing Sherlock Holmes, Sir 
Galahad, and General Joffre, so much the better.” 

“I’ll do more—I’ll tell the truth about you.” 

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t! I can’t afford it, 
Blunt. She knows me a bit too well as it is. I 

tell you I’m in wrong-” I stopped; a taxi had 

drawn in to the curb opposite where we stood, and 
a woman had alighted. It was Brenda Gelette. 

“Good evening—I mean good morning,” I said, 
raising my hat. 

“I wish to speak with Mr. Blunt,” she said, 
ignoring my dignified salute. 

“Certainly,” I said. “Blunt-” I turned, but 

the perfidious Blunt had vanished. 





3i3 


I WIN THE QUEEN 

‘Tm sure I saw him,” said Miss Gelette. 

‘Tm sure, too,” I agreed. “He was here—and 
now he isn’t.” 

“So I see. You told him to go.” 

“It Indeed no. Why should I?” 

She blushed profusely under the electrics. “Be- 
because you did! It would be just like you. You 
knew I wanted to see him. Of course you did!” 

She backed toward the taxi, I followed. “Where 
are you going?” I asked. “I thought you were 
arriving home. But now it seems you’re going.” 

“How intelligent you are,” she murmured. 

I peered into the taxi; it was empty. “Do you 
know what time it is?” I demanded. “You’re not 
going gallivanting about the streets at this hour 
alone. It is my duty to go with you.” 

“But it is not my pleasure, Mr. Lawton.” 

“I can’t help that, Miss Gelette. Either I march, 
you back to the Waldorf, or I accompany you on 
this errand. Take your choice.” 

“Oh, very well,” she shrugged. “Of course, if 
you’re going to be perfectly brutal again, I am 
quite defenseless, and I must go to Roosevelt Hos¬ 
pital. I’ve not time to argue-” 

We entered the taxi and sat in formidable silence. 

“Well?” said Miss Gelette at length, her foot 
tapping. “Why don’t you demand why I’m going 
to the hospital at this hour? I suppose you are 
going to force me to tell you, but I won’t.” 



314 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


“Really, I’m not at all inquisitive.” 

“Then you’ve changed greatly. But, of course, 
the real fact is that you know already. Mr. Blunt 
told you; I’m positive he did.” 

“Well, that’s true,” I admitted. “I was taking 
a walk and happened to meet him, and he told 
me about your Uncle Silas. I suppose they phoned 
you from Roosevelt? Fancy all that has happened 
in a few hours; it doesn’t seem possible. You must 
have had a very exciting time, from all accounts.” 

“I had,” she said uncompromisingly. “What did 
Mr. Blunt tell you?” 

“Oh, that Joyce is a rascal—which is no more 
than I suspected-” 

“If you suspected that, then why didn’t you tell 
us?” 

“Well, I wasn’t sure-” 

“No, of course you weren’t. You never suspected 
him at all. We might all have had our throats 
cut and you’d never have known, or cared.” 

“Oh, but I would; I don’t like my throat being 
cut—well, no matter if you didn’t mean me, too. 
Anyway, he’s a rascal, it seems, and with other 
rascals kidnaped your Uncle Silas and held him 
to ransom. They took him to some lonely house 
and he wouldn’t pay up. He was wounded but 
managed to escape, and he’s now at Roosevelt. It’s 
all very interesting, like something you’d read 
about.” 



I WIN THE QUEEN 315 

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with Mr, 
Blunt/’ 

“Oh, in a sort of way. He tells me things.” 

She smiled with great superiority. “So I see. 
But a great deal happened to-night that you’ll never 
know.” 

“You might tell me.” 

“I might, but I won’t. If ever I needed a friend 
—a real friend who could do things and not merely 
talk and act silly—it was to-night. I had an 
awful time.” 

“I’m very sorry to hear it. If you had only 
phoned me-” 

“Phoned you!” 

“Well, I didn’t even know you had an Uncle 
Silas; at least I’d forgotten, and I didn’t know he 
was coming-” 

“No, of course, you didn’t. You never know 
anything. But if you had been there, what would 
you have done? Nothing. It was an occasion for 
men, real men. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Blunt 
and Mr. Bright-” 

“Blunt never told me what he did.” 

“No he doesn’t talk about himself, which must 
seem strange to you. But Mr. Bright, who saved 
me from those wretches, told me all that Mr. Blunt 
was doing.” 

“Well,” I said as the taxi rattled under the L 
at Fifty-eighth Street, “everybody can’t be a hero, 





THE BLACK COMPANY 


316 

and you know I never pretended to be one. One 
can’t be everything. I hope that you really weren’t 
in any danger.” 

“I was. I might have been killed; but I’m not 
going to tell you anything about it. Here’s the 
hospital. I suppose you’ll insist upon coming in?” 

“No, I never liked the smell. I’ll sit here and 
keep the car warm. Don’t be long.” 

“I’ll be as long as I like. I don’t want you to 
wait. I prefer to return alone. I insist upon it.” 

“Very well. I shall be here.” 

“Oh, you—you-” Words failing her for 

once, she turned and entered the hospital. 

She kept me waiting a really scandalous time, 
simply out of spite. It is remarkable how spiteful 
even the best women can be, and for absolutely no 
reason at all. When at length she returned, she 
entered the taxi without a word, seemingly too con¬ 
cerned about something even to notice my continued 
presence. 

“I hope your uncle is coming along all right,” 
I ventured at length. 

No answer. 

“I hope your uncle-” 

“Don’t speak to me!” 

“Very well; as you wish. As I was saying, I 
hope-” 

Then she burst in on me in a muffled voice. “Of 
all the mean, detestable, contemptible characters I 





I WIN THE QUEEN 


317 


ever met—yes, I mean you! I—I hate you! That’s 
right, sit there and laugh at me. You are laugh¬ 
ing! Oh, but you are wicked!” 

“What have I done now, or failed to do?” 

“Y-you know perfectly well! You knew all the 
time. You were there at that house. It was you 
who really saved my uncle. And—and you pre¬ 
tended. You let me talk. Oh, but you are wicked!” 

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t literally true 
either-” 

“You did! You let me think—no, it’s no use 
trying to explain. I’ve learned everything—every¬ 
thing! Mr. Blunt told me the whole story over 
the wire. He guessed that I was going to the 
hospital. I know everything ” 

“But you don’t want to believe a word that 
man says,” I assured her earnestly. “I’ve got to 
be honest about it. I asked him to put in a good 
word for me when he saw you, to tell you a lot of 
glorified nonsense.” To my consternation I saw 
that she was crying. “My dear little girl-” 

“I—I’m not your dear little girl! You hate me. 
Y-you never tell me the truth about anything. 
You’re always making f-fun of me. You m-might 
have been killed. They tortured you and—and you 
only laugh. We—we owe you everything, and— 
and—oh, Peter-” 

She finished it on my knee, arms about my un¬ 
worthy neck and her snub nose buried under my 





3i8 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


collar. I don’t know how it happened, nor do 
I care; some things are far too wonderful to be 
susceptible of analysis or explanation. It just 
happened; one moment she was calling me some 
of the names I deserved, the next she was perched 
there, pouring out the most beautiful untruths imag¬ 
inable. I’m ashamed to tell you all the nice things 
she said about me; I was ashamed even to listen, 
and by and by I told her so. 

“The only two heroes who figure in this thing,” 
I confessed, seeing that she’d find it out, anyway, 
all in good time, “are Mr. Blunt and that stoic 
uncle of yours, to whom I take off my hat.” Of 
course, this was merely a figure of speech, my arms 
being fully engaged with another figure. “I hate 
to think what I would have done in Silas Varney’s 
place—or, rather, I know only too well. I wouldn’t 
have dedicated a perfectly good foot-” 

“Yes, you would, and more! Oh, P-Peter, I 
can’t say half what I feel! But, Peter dear, do— 
do you really love me?” 

“Why, bless your heart, don’t you know I do, 
and did from the first moment I saw you? Haven’t 
I been telling you all along-” , 

“No. you haven’t. But—but, Peter dear, please 

begin now.” 

Well, do you know, I’m inclined to agree with Tim 
Scallon that- some fools have all the luck. Cer¬ 
tainly it was so in my case. 




I WIN THE QUEEN 319 

The abortive German peace offer has become a 
matter of history, and, since the affair of the Black 
Company, even the Great War itself is over and- 
done with, if not forgotten. It is a matter of history 
also how, in spite of Silas Varney’s heroism and 
all he suffered, his mission was betrayed. The 
Wall Street side of it is likewise a matter of history, 
financial if not otherwise. There were those who 
made fortunes, but Tim Scallon and his crowd were 
not among them. No, nor I myself, nor any honest 
man I know. 

The erstwhile Black King, with several of his 
court, including Roupell or Rose, Corby, and Joyce, 
are the guests of the State at its famous rest home 
on the banks of the Hudson, where they promise 
to remain for a considerable period. For in no 
case was there found evidence capable of convicting 
them of first-degree murder, and I dare say Scallon, 
while making brushes, is comforting himself with 
the hope that some day he will be free to pick 
that long-deferred bone with Lisping Jimmie. 

I hear there is some talk about Silas Varney being 
our next representative at the Court of St. James. 
He walks now with a slight but permanent limp 
that rather adds to his distinguished appearance. 

Theodore Varney is still alive and kicking. In¬ 
deed, his hold on life seems to have increased, if 
anything, and he is looked on as a sort of medical 


320 


THE BLACK COMPANY 


marvel, perversely defying all the accepted notions 
as to the duration of his singular disease. 

And so we still keep up the “tragic farce/’ but 
all his bitterness and venom have gone. Perhaps 
this is due to his absorbing interest in the antics 
of a small namesake. Oh, yes, I’ve forgotten about 
that sinister Demon; it had no chance in the Ar- 
gonne and was perhaps finally slain by the bullet 
that invalided me out. Anyway, its final passing 
heralded the coming of this delightful one. At 
least, the harried neighbors call him a demon, and 
Brenda says he gets all his inquisitiveness, impu¬ 
dence, and lack of reverence for the truth, from me. 
Also, by the way, all his good looks. Of course, 
that goes without saying. 


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